Sherlene Holmes and The Three Gables
by girl1213
Summary: The Woman Detective Sherlene Holmes is called to Three Gables to solve a mystery. A female version of Granada Sherlock Holmes. Rated K plus due to violence shown in the episode. SPOILERS! Reviews welcome and wanted
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing expect the idea... and Sherlene. This has been made purly for entertainment.

This is my written verison of the first episode of season seven Granada Television's Sherlock Holmes, which aired on 3/7/1994. It is a favorite episode of mine and the idea of "what if Sherlock Holmes was a woman" was always an interesting one to me. So here it is and I hope you enjoy reading it. Reviews are welcome.

_3/20/11-Did some editing to fix some mistakes on the page_

* * *

**Sherlene Holmes and the Adventure of the Three Gables**

John Watson did not quite know what to expect when he quickly opened the door to the sitting room. He had just returned to Baker Street from some early morning business and was greeted by an anxious Mrs. Hudson, who had been hearing a fierce commotion coming from the room above for the past ten minutes. The commotion, she said, sounded like there was a mad bull running above her head. It had started not long after she admitted a black man into the house and sent him upstairs when he said he needed to see Sherlene Holmes. Watson wasted no time hurrying up the seventeen steps to get to the sitting room with the housekeeper fallowing closely behind. If Sherlene was in jeopardy, he wanted to be there to defend her, even though she could protect herself well enough on her own.

It was more then a bit of a horror when he saw Sherlene in the grip of the black man Mrs. Hudson mentioned. He was a lot taller and muscular then Watson expected. He stood about half a head taller then the doctor. His strong figure was well concealed by his very loud gray check suit. His large muscular hands were curled just under the collar of Sherlene's dressing gown. He was holding her above his head, against the large window closest to the fireplace, looking as though he would threaten to push her through it and onto the street below. However, the only thing keeping him from doing carrying out the threat was Sherlene's unyielding hold on both a curtain and the bookshelf with her feet braced against the sides of the window frame. She did not appear hurt but her long obsidian hair was in dismay. Her wide grey eyes and raised eyebrows betrayed the fear she was experiencing at being close to being thrown out the window.

However, upon looking up and seeing Watson in the doorway, the sparks of fear disappeared from her face as though they were never there at all.

"Ah! Watson! Well timed!" she called, her voice tight with both relief and alarm

The black man stopped trying to shove her and looked over his shoulder, revealing his broad face. He had a black bushy mustache under his flattened nose and sullen dark eyes that held a smoldering gleam of malice in them. He did not yet however release his hold on Sherlene. Watson looked in disbelief over his shoulder, where Mrs. Hudson stood, her eyes wide as she took in the scene of Miss Holmes and the stranger.

Now that she was no longer being shoved, though keeping a tight hold on the shelf and curtain, Sherlene's voice started to even out as she introduced the man despite their position "Shake hands with Steve Dixie, the pugilist…"

Now that he had an audience the stranger, Steve Dixie, released a hand from Sherlene but kept the other in place, shaking the woman slightly as she continued in an irritated tone, "…who might have a future in his profession if he didn't mix with bad company!"

"What on earth's happening here?" Watson demanded sternly to Steve Dixie, walking into the room, carefully avoiding the mess he just now noticed. From the looks of skewed and tipped over chairs and tables, broken glass and thrown knick-knacks, Sherlene must have been trying to defend herself against the man, using the furniture and items in the room as barriers and weapons against him until he trapped her against the window. That would account for the "mad bull" commotion Mrs. Hudson had been hearing from the floor below.

"Her!" answered the thug, giving the thin woman another harsh shake "Meddling in affairs that don't concern her!" Then he finally released her from his grip and walked away from her. At last free, Sherlene let go of the bookshelf and loosened her grip on the curtain to which she had very nearly torn.

The thug continued as Sherlene stepped down from the window frame, carefully avoiding stepping on anything, unlike Dixie, who strode through the mess uncaringly. "And I warned her and she got cocky!"

Though Watson knew overconfidence was one of his closest friend's weaknesses, she was hardly foolish with her confidence. Despite her self-taught training at bare-knuckle boxing, she would not go against an opponent she knew she could not handle alone without the doctor's help, and Steve Dixie was just the right size of being too much for her to handle alone. If Sherlene resorted to having to use the room against her opponent, then it was obvious enough for Watson to see she used it as a last resort of defending herself until help arrived.

Sherlene lowered herself into her chair, one of the few untouched and undisturbed furniture left in the room. "Oh, keep talking! Keep talking! It's fine," she said loudly and sarcastically to the thug, who turned back to her.

"It's fine is it? Well…" he growled her. A large knotted fist swung and harshly nudged the side of her jaw a couple of time, though Sherlene seemed indifferent towards it, no longer holding the image of a frightened woman worried for her life. "…it won't be so damn fine if I have to thump you around a bit."

Though Sherlene appeared unconcerned, Watson was not. Ever since he saw Sherlene in one of her rare terrified moments, his protective instincts soared up rapidly. He did not care if Steve Dixie was younger, taller, stronger and probably a better fighter then he was. He had obviously threatened Sherlene like that before, when the doctor was not around and he was doing so again, despite the fact people were watching. The good doctor rushed forward and grabbed hold of Dixie's other arm. "Alright! Enough!"

As he somewhat expected, Dixie wrenched his arm away and made to swing at Watson but Sherlene's voice stopped the fight before it began.

"STOP IT, WATSON! STOP IT!"

Both men paused, both of them had their fists up, ready to brawl each other but since a lady had demanded them (despite Sherlene only saying Watson's name) to stop, it was only out of good manners that they do so. However, they did not move from their positions, their fists still raised and bodies tense, not wanting to be the first one to stand down as it would be a sign of weakness. Nonetheless, it was Sherlene who made the decision for them.

"Let us hear who has sent him on this belligerent errand," Sherlene said. From her seat she grabbed Watson's desk chair, which had been thrown next to her chair, and righted up in front of her. She held out her hand invitingly toward the chair for Dixie. "Do sit down, Dixie and talk to me."

It was only out of the politeness of Sherlene's tone of voice that Dixie even moved at all. It seemed that despite his harsh thug actions and attitude toward her and Watson, Dixie still had some degree of manners towards the fairer sex. It was something of a shock to Watson that, despite that minutes earlier Dixie had threatened to not only push her out of the window but also beat her, Sherlene still treated him politely as though he were a visiting guest. But then again, Sherlene always did have the habit of surprising him. Watson lowered his fists, but stayed where he was, standing watch; ready to do whatever he felt was necessary if Dixie made another threat toward her again.

"Ah, thank you," Sherlene said as Dixie obediently sat down in the offered chair. "Now tell me what this is all about."

Dixie paused for a moment as though he too was taken aback by Sherlene's behavior. How she could go from being so scared and frightened to so clam and courteous in such a small space of time was beyond him. However, his features were quickly schooled back into his thuggish toughness. "I ain't tellin' you nothing…Miss Holmes. Expect for you to keep 'way from 'arrow!"

"I haven't been to Harrow in months."

"You know what I'm talkin' about! I'm warning you. Keep. Away."

"On the matter of the killing of Perkins outside the Holborn Bar?" Sherlene asked the question but it was clear in her grey eyes that she knew the answer.

Dixie's mask of toughness slipped away for a moment. "I had nothin' to do with that. I was trainin'." But the more Dixie looked into Sherlene's eyes, his outward toughness slipped away more and more. It seemed he was trying to convince himself of his words more then he was trying to convince the woman with the grey omniscient eyes sitting across from him. "Yeah. At the Bull Ring in Birmingham when this boy got done."

Sherlene gave her head a slight shake, her gaze still locked on Dixie, unnerving him even more. "You'll tell that to the magistrate. Mrs. Hudson!"

The old woman had never left just outside the doorway to the sitting room. Though, at some point, she had closed the door just enough to allow a sufficient crack for her to silently watch what was going on. Sherlene knew the good housekeeper was there because she could see her from where she was sitting. But the old woman was waiting a minute so the men would not think she had been eavesdropping.

Dixie gave Sherlene an uneasy grin. "Look, uh…no hard feelings, aye, Miss Holmes?"

Mrs. Hudson finally opened the door when she saw Dixie begin to rise from his chair. "Mrs. Hudson, there has been a slight disturbance." Sherlene said in a polite tone of voice. The tone was covering the amusement Watson could faintly see growing in her posture.

"Uh yeah," Dixie said, suddenly self-conscious now that there was an older lady in the room, much to Watson's disbelief. Gone was the tough tug Steve Dixie had embodied so well. Now he looked like an embarrassed little boy who had caught stealing dessert before supper. He turned back to Sherlene, growing even more discomfited "I've just done what I was told."

"My regards to Barney Stockdale," Sherlene said as a goodbye

Mrs. Hudson took that as her cue that she could now freely reprove the man responsible for causing Miss Holmes to mess up the rooms she tried to hard to keep tidy. Despite Miss Holmes' admittedly unpleasant untidy habits, Miss Holmes had enough common curtsey to keep the furniture from tipping over and flung to the side.

"You're the one responsible for this mess?" Mrs. Hudson asked Dixie with a scolding tone, causing Dixie to visible sweat

Much more to Watson's shock, Dixie allowed himself to be pulled out of room, taking numerous slaps on the head and shoulders from the housekeeper and not raising one finger against her or letting out a breath of protest.

Sherlene could no longer hold back an amused chuckle, bringing Watson's confused attention toward her. "Oh! He's a harmless enough fellow," Sherlene explained "But easily cowed as you see. One of the Spencer John gang...assaults, intimidation, and the like."

Now Watson understood what Dixie was doing here at 221B Baker Street. The black thug had come on the task of intimidating the woman detective away from doing something. If intimidation did not work, then assaulting would be the next thing to do. The state of room proved the intimidation attempt had failed. But he had no idea as to why they wanted her to keep away.

So he asked, "Why do they want to intimidate you?"

Sherlene pulled out a piece of folded, slightly wrinkled paper from one of the pockets of her dressing gown. She unfolded it and handed it to Watson for him to read. His curiosity on the name she said to Dixie, however, kept him from reading it immediately. "Who's Barney Stockdale?"

"He's a meager principle," was Sherlene's answer. "Who is paying Barney Stockdale I wonder."

As she asked the question to the air, she rose and picked up an apple from somewhere unseen. Watson then noticed a potentially flammable chemical on Sherlene's chemical table had been tipped over and was slowly spilling onto the counter, due to it's cork laying a little further down. He quickly righted the bottle and replaced the cork. He turned back to the paper and began reading it.

"The Three Gables, Harrow Weald?"

Sherlene was about to take a bite out of her apple when she felt a chilling breeze against her arm. She turned her head slightly to look at the window she had been so roughly held in front of and realized at the window sash was without glass, causing the sounds of a typical busy late morning on Baker Street to float into the room. She had not noticed it before since her attention was kept on keeping Dixie from hurting her too badly until Watson arrived to disrupt the assault attempt.

"He's broken our window!" she said as if incredulous at the discovery. The tone was enough for Watson to look up just in time to see her toss the apple through the window as if to prove that there was indeed no glass. But despite that, Watson turned his attention back to the paper.

_Dear Ms. Sherlene Holmes_

_I have had a succession of strange incidents occur to me_

_in connection with my house, and I should much value your_

_advice. You would find me at home any time tomorrow._

_I believe that my late husband, Mortimer Maberley, was_

_one of your early clients._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Mary Maberley_

After finishing reading the note on the paper, Watson began to pick the mess in front of the fireplace. Sherlene, however, stayed where she was. Watson looked back up to see that her expression was in that concentrated look that showed she was suspecting something more in a case then what the client may suspect.

"This comic interlude with Steve Dixie convinces me there must be something in it," Sherlene reported austerely.

Many years of friendship and cases with Sherlene had taught Watson to never doubt the suspicions the woman detective had. All to often, they have proven true, no matter how circumstantial the events that her suspicions fell upon.

"Let us wire her and go there at once."

* * *

Well...

What do you think?

Good? Bad? Needs work? Love it? Hate it?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A reviewer asked the questions on how characters relationships would change now that Sherlock's a woman and how a Victorian society would handicap her work. (This is why I want reviews, I need to know what questions/concerns people may have - It's how I get better).

Well the characters' relationship will be relatively unchanged, so unless I get high demands for romantic hints, there will be NO ROMANCE between Sherlene and any male character. I want to remain as true to the story presented in the TV Series as possible. So hopefully only little things will change (for example: Watson being more protective).

As for the Victorian society problem, well that one is more tricky but because The Three Gables adventure is a later Sherlock Holmes story (released in 1926) I'm not going to worry too much over it. In my mind, at this point in time Sherlene is well known. Nowadays, her clients understand that her gender is not a hindrance to her practice. Even if they do have a problem with her gender, they can't hide from the fact that she does get the results better and faster then the police.

* * *

By that afternoon, Sherlene Holmes and John Watson found themselves being lead the door of a two-story villa made of timber and yellow bricks with five red brick chimneys on its roof. The roof was green with three small projections, along with only three seen windows on the second story. They were being lead into the house by its owner, Mary Maberley. Mrs. Maberley was an elderly grandmother-like lady whose body still had a bundle of energy as evident by her non-hunching posture and lack of a walking stick. She was wearing a dark smoky dress, a sign of her widowhood.

"I knew your husband well, madam," Sherlene said as Mrs. Maberley led her and Watson into the sitting room, passing the young maid, Dora, along the way. "But it was some years ago."

Mrs. Maberley gave an amused chuckled as she lead her guests to a small circler table where some fresh cake lay, "It's been some years since he's been with us, the dear man." She gestured to the cake. "Will you try some of this?" Sherlene made to politely refuse but Maberley interrupted her by adding, "I baked it myself."

Deciding to resign herself to at least take a taste of the cake to please Mrs. Maberley, Sherlene sat down in the chair closest to the cake. Watson made to sit down when he noticed something just past Mrs. Maberley's shoulder. "That's Douglas Maberley!"

Both Sherlene and Mrs. Maberley fallowed Watson's gaze to a oil painting of a man in his twenties with blonde soft-looking and bouncy hair. He had a sharp but fine-looking young face and narrow dark eyes that made him even handsomer. Sherlene noticed Mrs. Maberley's face became a little sadder as she looked at the painting.

"Yes," she said as she took her seat at the table

"I knew him slightly," explained Watson, oblivious to the change in Mrs. Maberley's mood as he sat down still looking at the painting. "Ah, he's a splendid fellow. Plays rugby for my old club, Blackheath. "

"I'm his grandmother."

"Oh," Watson said, pleasantly surprised as he turned his attention back to her, still unaware of the sadness Sherlene could detect in the old woman.

"I was his grandmother," Mrs. Maberley corrected herself, "He died a month ago."

Watson's eyes widened in surprise, though Sherlene had expected the news that Douglas had died not too long ago. The dark colors of Mrs. Maberley's dress, the blotchiness under her eyes, the black cloth on the picture frame and on the table under the painting, the way the table was set up, the items on the table, and the fact the painting was in the sitting room of all places had pointed toward a recent passing away of a loved member of the family.

Sherlene had mistaken Mrs. Maberley's dress as that of a widower but in actuality it was the sign of a mourner. The blotchiness showed that the elderly lady cried a lot and recently. The black cloth decor around painting was that of a makeshift memorial. The items on the table were those belonging to a young man. The makeshift memorial being in the sitting room, the one place in the house where Mrs. Maberley spent most of her time showed she had not yet let him go.

"Died?" Watson asked, astonished as though the thought of a young man like Douglas dead at his age was impractical.

"You hadn't heard?" Now Mrs. Maberley was surprised but she quickly realized how impossible it would have been for Watson to hear of his death. "It was a sad ending."

"I'm so sorry," Watson apologized with sincerity "He seemed so full of life and energy. It is hard to connect."

"He lived too intensely," Mrs. Maberley told him, her voice saddening in memory "It was the ruin of him."

"Was it an accident? The last I heard, he had been appointment attaché to our embassy in Rome."

Mrs. Maberley looked away from Watson to move her gaze around the room as though lost in her memory, "He died in this house. From pneumonia they say. Brought on by a ruptured spleen." She then came back to herself as she took a deep breath in. She held it for a few seconds then began talking again, her sad mood vanishing slowly but not completely away. "But it is not to talk of my grandson that I asked you here."

Taking that as a cue, Sherlene leaned forward to draw Mrs. Maberley's attention to her. "We are here, please, to give you service," she assured

"Thank you."

The old woman made herself more comfortable and began to explain the strange happenings that made her call Sherlene in the first place. "Well…I've been in this house for over a year now, leading a retired life. Three days ago I had a call from a house agent…"

* * *

_Three days ago…_

"The money is no object madam," the man who said that he was a house agent told her.

"But there are several empty houses on around here on the market."

"No, this! My client's heart is set on this one.

It all seemed very strange to Mrs. Maberley. Why should anyone want her house so badly? She had seen little of her neighbors, wanting to live a quiet life of retirement despite her wish to travel, as she could not afford to do so when her husband had passed on. She could not see how someone would have heard of her house, much less want to live out here.

"Will you name your price?" the agent asked

* * *

_"I suggested £500 more then I gave for it. But he said that his client…"_

* * *

"My client desires to buy the furniture as well."

If suspicions were like flags, Mrs. Maberley's began to rise up at this new development although she was initially unaware of it. She could understand wanting to buy the house but why would someone want her furnishings? The furniture was one of the few things she had left in her possession now.

"All of it?"

"Everything!"

"But some of it is very good."

"Just state your price, Mrs. Maberley."

* * *

"_So I did…a good round sum. He agreed at once. You see; I always wanted to travel. Around the world, if I could. It's a legacy left to me by my dear Mortimer. Alas, we never really achieved it."_

"_The man returned the next day with everything he drawn up?" _

"_Yesterday. Luckily I showed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer."_

_

* * *

_

__

Yesterday…

Mr. Sutro slowly lowered the agreement Mrs. Maberley had given him to examine to see if the agreement it was good. His face was scrunched up with confusion. "This is very strange. Are you aware that you cannot take anything out of the house? No even your own personal possessions?"

The suspicion Mrs. Maberley had felt earlier when she heard that the agent's client wanted to buy her furnishings became clear to her then.

"Not my clothes? My jewelry?"

"Anything."

* * *

"_When the man returned to the house, you pointed this out?" _

"_Yes. He said I might take some personal effects. But that nothing should go out of this house unchecked."_

* * *

"My client is very liberal. But has fads and a way of doing things. I'm afraid it must be everything." The man handed her his pen. "Or nothing for my client."

Mrs. Maberley lowered the pen. "Then…it must be nothing."

* * *

_Present…_

Mrs. Maberley fished through a small pot filled with folded old papers and calling cards. She plucked out the one calling card she had been given three days ago, stood up and handed the card to Watson. "Here it is."

"Haynes Johnson? No address." Watson read off without surprise. He turned back to Mrs. Maberley "I doubt we shall find him in the directory. Honest men don't conceal their place of business."

Sherlene's sharp ear suddenly caught a particular sound that did not fit in the quiet environment of the sitting room. The only sounds that Sherlene could hear in and from the sitting room were the gentle tapings of Watson and Mrs. Maberley's shoes against the floor. The call of a robin could be heard from the slightly open window peering into the front yard, along with the slight breeze of wind. This particular sound did not belong.

Tuning out any other noise, her mind focused on this one noise and started analyzing. It was the swish of air but it sounded as though someone was gasping heavily. Yet the pitch was squeaky and whiny. It reminded Sherlene of breath being forced out through a stuffy nose.

The unexpected bellow from the until-then-silent Sherlene startled both Watson and Mrs. Maberley badly enough that it felt as though their very bones would leap out of their skin. They turned around just in time to see Sherlene struck the wall near the entryway of the hall with her cane. There was cry of alarm, though forced and startled, from who or whatever it was Sherlene wanted to surprise. Watson just saw the flash of a thin arm from beyond the entryway before Sherlene surge forward with her cane out. The hooked handle of the cane caught something and Sherlene gave a mighty pull, dragging out whomever she had seen into Watson and Mrs. Maberley's line of sight.

The cane had caught hold of the arm Watson had briefly seen. The arm was attached to a thin, sickly-faced, brownish blonde-haired woman. The woman was gasping heavily having lost her breath from being startled badly by Sherlene striking the wall she had been hidden behind. She was awkwardly fighting against the cane attached on her arm, but most of her focus was on regaining control of her breathing.

Using the cane, Sherlene dragged the woman to a wall and pushed her against it. Sherlene then unhooked the handle from the woman's arm and then held the end of cane against the side of the spy's neck. The way Sherlene was holding the cane was in no way threatening, but it was enough to warn the lady that she did not want her to move. However, the woman did not look like she could move away anytime soon. Her eyes were watery with painful discomfort and a thin hand pressed against her chest, trying to force herself to stop heaving so violently.

Seeing how the woman got her implication to not move away from that spot, Sherlene then took a step back and sat down in the seat behind her but she kept the cane raised just in case. "Just a little wheezy for eavesdropping, huh?" she asked the woman

"I…" The woman paused to take in another calmer breath though her voice was still high and shaky. She looked towards Mrs. Maberley as if she would save her from Sherlene's critical gaze, "I just came in to find out if the visitors were…staying for lunch…Madame."

Sherlene was unimpressed with the weak lie as she waved the cane still pointed at the woman, slightly threatening. "Don't force me to use this," she warned, "Mrs. Maberley?"

The elder lady blinked out of her surprise shock at seeing the spying woman and gave the woman detective her attention. "Did you mention to anyone that you were going to consult me?"

"I did not Miss Holmes," Mrs. Maberley answered

"Who posted the letter?"

"Susan did."

"Susan?"

Mrs. Maberley gestured to the woman Sherlene was holding at bay. "Ah."

Sherlene turn back to Susan, glaring harshly at the wheezy woman, "To whom did you sent your message?"

"I…sent no message."

"Tell me!"

"Susan! I remember now!" Mrs. Maberley cried, "I saw you speaking to someone over the hedge."

Susan's face harden in defense. "That was my own business Madame." Had her voice not been so rough of the wheezes, she would have sounded defensive.

"Barney Stockdale?" Sherlene asked

"Fine chance that it be. I don't even know the man."

"It is worth ten pounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of this."

"Someone who could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten you have in the world."

"Was he a rich man?"

Susan smiled.

"No. You smiled. A rich woman." Sherlene clicked her tongue. "Tell me the name and earn the money."

Susan leaned forward as she glared. Somehow she managed to make her wheezy voice drop into a menacing if tight tone, "I see you in hell first!" She stepped away from the wall and turned her glare towards Mrs. Maberley. "I'll send for my box tomorrow…Madame." With that, she threw the ring of keys Mrs. Maberley had given her and stomped out of the room, down the hall and through the front door, leaving behind a confused elderly woman, a contemplating lady and a watchful gentleman doctor.

For a few moments, there was quiet.

Sherlene broke the silence with a non-exaggerated proclaim of: "This gang means business!"

"But what could they possible want?" Mrs. Maberley asked, though she was oblivious to the gang part of Sherlene's proclaim. She did however believe Sherlene was meaning the mysterious client that wanted to buy her house and furnishing. But now that the elder knew that Susan was indeed a spy in her house during her time under her employment, she felt cold shivers of fear. She turned to the portrait of her grandson as if it would give her some comfort and sense of security.

"Mrs. Maberley," Watson spoke for the first time since Sherlene discovered Susan spying on them. "You say you've been in this house for nearly a year?"

Mrs. Maberley turned back to face him. "Nearly two."

"So for nearly two years, no one has taken any particular interest in the house? And then suddenly within three or four days, urgent demands are made for it and it's contents? Something new must have been brought into the house."

"No," was Mrs. Maberley's answer "I haven't bought anything new for a year."

Sherlene watched Susan through the window, surveying her departure as she listened to Watson and Mrs. Maberley. "This Susan? How long has she been with you?"

"Almost three weeks."

"Since your grandson's death?" the woman detective asked still watching the window.

"A week after. She presented herself and…I took her in, I suppose without proper reference."

That settled it then, thought Sherlene. Whatever it was Susan was brought into the house to find, it had something to do with the late Douglas Maberley and most likely his connections to Rome. But the first question that needed answering was who the rich woman that employed Susan was and what her connection was to Douglas.

Once Sherlene was certain Susan was gone, she picked off a morsel of the cake Mrs. Maberley had offered her earlier with her forefinger and thumb. She plucked the bit of cake into her mouth, gave it a couple thoughtful chews before swallowing with a delighted smile, proclaiming that it was delicious. It was tactical way to keep Mrs. Maberley away from her overly worried thoughts about her mistake with Susan. A simple compliment to an old lady's cooking was a great way to make them feel better after all.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Here's the third chapter. I'm on a roll here here. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Please…now will you tell us the circumstances of your grandson's return from Italy?" Sherlene asked

Mrs. Maberley nodded slowly but she looked the portrait of her grandson. Her memory took her back to the day her grandson had come to her house well over a month ago. It was a day that was still all-too-fresh in her mind.

That day, she had almost did not recognize the man that came to her house.

Douglas was no longer the man she remembered. Gone was the handsome fearless young man she had known him to be throughout his life. His eyes held no longer a spark of life and energy. They were dull and depressed with the gleam of an inner rage and unspoken pain. His hair was no longer bouncy and soft. It was thick and heavy with grease as if he never bothered or cared to wash it anymore. His body thin, bruised and sickly and his beautiful tan skin had taken a grayish white hue. It had seemed that in the space of a few months since she had last seen him before that day, Douglas had transformed into a broken and sickly man.

"My gallant boy…" Mrs. Maberley whispered sadly, her mind drifting again.

Luckily for Sherlene's patience, Mrs. Maberley once again quickly came back to herself and began to explain.

"You may remembered him as debonair and splendid Dr. Watson…" the old woman began, "You didn't see the morose and brooding creature he became. His heart was broken. In a single month, I watched him turn into a worn out, cynical man"

Mrs. Maberley believed that was the only reason for what caused the erupted change in her grandson. There were few things in the world that could cause such an amendment in a man like Douglas. His grandparents loved him. He was in no financial trouble. He had an occupation that he loved and a good company of friends. The only thing missing from his happy life was the love of an intimate companion of the fairer sex.

"A woman?" Sherlene asked, though she knew the answer. She had seen it before all too many times.

In her line of work, it seemed that some of the worse of criminals were those of her own sex. It was no secret that women were often overlooked as potential criminals. Society branded women as pure, clean and powerless, but Sherlene herself knew better. Just as men always had power over women, women always had power over men. That power was what humans classified as love. In the criminal world, love could make a man or a woman do unspeakable things to another.

Without a doubt, women could do just as much harm to men and destroy them all in the name of love. It had taken her many years, a lot of frustration and failures to pound that notion into the heads of Scotland Yard's finest.

Mrs. Maberley made to answer with an affirmative, but she hesitated, and then shook her head. Her emotions were getting away from her as tears swelled in her eyes and her voice shook. "He wouldn't speak of it. He was afraid of…upsetting his grandmother."

"And so you never learnt her name?" Sherlene asked

Mrs. Maberley could not pull herself away from her raging emotions long enough to answer. But Sherlene did not bother to press her any further. The elder lady had given her enough.

The woman detective turned in her chair to stand up and went over to collect her hat, gloves and cane. "It might be advisable for someone to stay with you tonight." She glanced over her shoulder to the doctor. "Watson?"

"Yes, of course," Watson readily agreed. If Sherlene was asking him to stay and protect Mrs. Maberley, she must have sensed an imminent danger even though he did not. Even after all these years, all his time spent in Afghanistan and later, with Sherlene and her oftentimes-dangerous cases, he still had not mastered that particular instinct.

"Oh no, I really couldn't ask for such a thing!" Mrs. Maberley protested, but Sherlene had already donned her hat and left the sitting room, heading outdoors.

Watson quickly assured Mrs. Maberley that he would be back before dark and not to concern herself. He thanked her for her hospitality and left the house, following after his bohemian lady friend.

* * *

By the time Watson caught up with Sherlene, she had stopped along the side of the entrance to the road leading to the house. She had stripped herself of the skirt she wore while visiting Mrs. Maberley's home, revealing the dark trousers she had hidden underneath. It was one of the little tricks Sherlene did to pass herself as a respectable woman. In truth, Sherlene hated skirts and dresses with a passion. As she once told him, skirts got in the way of an investigation and would tear far too easily. However, she often had to force herself to wear them to please the strict society she lived in.

It had taken Watson a long while to get use to seeing a lady wearing trousers on a daily basis when they were at home at Baker Street, and a little longer while to get use to the fact that she wore trousers under her skirt whenever they ventured outside. Though nowadays the people that hired her were well aware and acceptant (to a degree) of Sherlene's unusual habits, they still preferred her wearing a skirt. Watson, himself, was no longer bothered by it, as he accepted long ago that Sherlene was a remarkable and singular independent woman with an intelligence that caused her to shine above nearly all members of her sex.

Watson walked up to Sherlene and stopped just behind her. He noticed that she was looking out into the trees, foliage and slight lingering traces of fog surrounding the house, doubtlessly letting her great mind analyze the data given to her.

"Might be useful to find this um—what she call?—Violet," Watson suggested having remembered Mrs. Maberley had mentioned a young neighboring woman by the name of Violet while the old woman had escorted him and his friend into the house. From what little Mrs. Maberley told them, Violet had been around during Douglas' last days. "He may have confined something to her that he didn't tell his grandmother in his last hours."

Sherlene didn't answer.

"Holmes?"

It was then he noticed the perplexing intensity of her gaze. Sherlene wasn't analyzing at all, he realized. She was almost glaring at a singular patch of dense foliage a little further down the road. Bundling up the skirt, Sherlene tucked the garment under her arm and began to slowly walk towards the foliage while staying on the road. Watson, now understanding Sherlene knew something was amiss, mimicked her movement, staying close behind her just in case she needed him. When she stopped, she gestured with her cane for him to do the same. She then pointed the cane towards the shrub and called out, "Good afternoon, Mr. Dixie."

From an opening in the foliage appeared Steve Dixie's head. He was not wearing this hat this time and his expression was that of dumbfoundedness. There was no doubt in Watson's mind that they were both thinking the same thing along the lines of "How did she know he/I was there?" Dixie had hidden so well that a normal person would not have known he was there. He had not moved or made a sound. But then again, Sherlene always did defy the seemingly impossible.

"The old lady and the house are both under my protection," Sherlene warned as the pugilist stood up. In a lower voice that made her voice go into a very threatening tone that made her eyes sharpen dangerously, she added "And don't you forget it."

With that, Dixie sprinted off, followed by another, smaller, less brawny and white skinned thug. There was no doubt in Sherlene's mind that the two thugs were sent to Three Gables in order to spy on the house by the mysterious rich woman Susan met. She was now also sure that is was this mystery woman who paid Barney Stockdale to send Dixie to intimate her earlier this morning.

Sherlene turned back to Watson to hand him the bundled up skirt and give him two instructions. "Make sure they're gone. Bring your revolver tonight."

With that Sherlene separated from Watson by walking into the foliage and disappearing into it.

* * *

It was raining heavily by the time Sherlene reached the wearing down summerhouse she had noticed before when Mrs. Maberley walked them through the gardens to reach the house. She hoped to make use of it as a place of thinking now that she was certain the house was, for the moment, safe. As Sherlene walked towards it, mindless of the downpour of cold rain, she paused when she heard a crunch underneath her shoe. She paused to look down and noticed that there was glass on the ground. On an inspection of the exterior summerhouse, she realized the glass must of come from one of the windows. Some of the windows of the summerhouse were creaked and while other were broken, and many of the windowpanes were without glass.

Walking a bit more carefully to avoid getting any glass hiding in the wet grass lodged into her shoes, Sherlene entered the shelter. Besides a writing desk and a wooden chair, there was little inside the summerhouse. But as Sherlene observed, until recent weeks, there had been much use of the desk. Littered around on the desktop's surface were pen stretches and ink stains ranging from a two months to a month old. There was also some scratch marks made from the chair legs imprinted in the wood floor of the shelter.

Whoever was in this shelter had used this place had done a great deal of writing and had barely left until the job was finished. The shifting of the chair was the only movement the writer had done most of the time.

Not wanting to sit in the chair when she saw that the roof was leaking rainwater onto it, Sherlene sat against the edge of the desk and began to ponder. When she shifted to get more comfortable, a tiny hidden drawer popped out of the desk, startling her momentarily, but enough for her snap out of her pondering and to jerk her hand away from the desktop. After the surprise passed, curiosity emerged.

When she laid her hand on the desktop over where the drawer was hidden, she must have unwittingly hit a hidden switch, which triggered the drawer to open. She peered into it and saw a medium-size gold locket sitting lying in there. She pulled off her glove, reached in and picked up it up, bringing it closer to her face for better examination.

By an examination of the shine on the metal's surface, the locket was either relatively new or extremely well taken care of until of late. The faint smell of polish on the surface indicated it was the later rather then the former. Edged on the front of the locket was a large stylized cursive letter D.

"D…" Sherlene pondered out loud to herself, "…Douglas Maberley." Sherlene blinked her eyes, staring up at the roof in thought, still pondering. "Splendid. Debonair. To morose and cynical." She let out a breathe of air in thought and looked back at the locket. "…strong words…"

She opened the locket and was startled when she saw the condition of the tiny photograph picture inside. There was enough of the picture to make out the image was that of a woman. A woman just about nearing middle age but still young enough to show no strains of gray in her poofy dark hair. She was a wealthy woman from the evidently expensive hairpins in her hair and diamond earrings hanging on her ears. A large, but not large enough to call much attention, brown beauty mark was on area where the chin connected to the jaw just under the month on the left side. But the grotesque thing about the picture was the fact that this lady's eyes have been poked away from the image.

"Oh no!" Sherlene took a deep breath in to steady herself. Douglas apparently had great rage towards this lady, enough to want to see her harmed if he deformed her picture. "Who is this lady with no eyes?"

Disgusted, Sherlene snapped the locket closed, dropped it back into its drawer and slammed the drawer shut.

She roused from the desk when she spotted Watson coming towards her, joining her in the relative dryness the summerhouse provided from the rain. "Our course lies there," she told the doctor motioning with her hand towards the house.

"There must be something that she doesn't know she has," Watson told her. He was still convinced that something had been brought into the house. Whatever it was, it was important enough for someone to go to the trouble of sending spies to the house.

Sherlene nodded her agreement but added, "Or…probably wouldn't tell us even if she did know."

* * *

A/N: REVIEW! Tell how much you like or hate it, please! Seriously I won't be offended if someone doesn't really like it.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This was a suprisingly hard chapter to write. It didn't help I had to finish mid-terms either. But now that I'm in Spring break, I can relax and was able to finish it. I also went back and did some editing in chapter one. Enjoy!

* * *

"This is a case for Langdale Pike…" Sherlene told Watson.

They had just returned to the city and were now in a cab, heading towards a gentleman's club in St. James's where an old acquaintance of Sherlene's was often found. Though normally women weren't allowed inside a gentleman's club, but Sherlene somehow (Watson never bothered to figure it out) always managed to gain access into one. The only gentleman's club she was allowed in without question was the Diogenes Club. Being the younger sister of one of the co-founders allowed her this privilege.

The acquaintance she was planning to meet was one Langdale Pike, an English gentleman with French origin from his mother's side of the family. Sherlene had first met Pike years ago when he was attending the same university her brother, Mycroft. Pike was one of the many men that she had become acquainted with during her many visits, but one of the very few men that did not ask for her hand in marriage, much her late father's disappointment.

"That reptile?" Watson asked her in an aversion tone of voice.

"Nonsense! Don't talk rubbish. He's a gossip," Sherlene told him.

She was well aware of Watson's dislike towards Pike, yet could not exactly figure out why due to the lack of facts presented to her. It may be because Pike's personal profession as a gossiper, or the fact she discreetly helped Pike gather information and was helped on return. Or perhaps, the more likely factor, it was because the doctor did not like (or trust) the way Pike looked at women. Despite her assurance that Pike would never do anything expect look, Watson had still stood very close to her when he was first in the gossiper's presence. Of course, Watson was ignorant to the fact that Sherlene knew Pike long before he became a gossiper.

"He might identify this rich woman," she explained, "Besides, he was brilliant at university. And yet, I've always felt that under that veneer…that he was totally isolated…like me*…"

Any argument he had on his tongue died when Watson realized he couldn't argue against the correspondence between the woman detective and the gossiper, to which Sherlene had just revealed to him.

* * *

"You see that? That young girl, there under the tree, with the occasional hat? What do you think of her?"

Sherlene paused in the gossip article she was reading with disinterest and glanced from her standing position behind Pike's chair to the window he was sitting towards. Through the window, one could see the lovely St. James's Park, the oldest of London's Royal Parks. The woman detective barely looked at the young lady Pike was watching with fascination before turning back to her paper.

"She's looking for a dog," was the apathy answer she gave

"What?" For a moment, Pike was confused on Sherlene's answer before he realized the woman detective was not thinking along the same lines as he was concerning the girl. "Oh surly—"

Sherlene interrupted by adding, "It's a Saluki** with a turquoise collar perhaps. She's a stranger in the park. So is the dog. There it is now."

Through the window, Pike watched a young and dashing gentleman ran up to the young lady he was watching. In his hands were his cane and the end of a dog leash. Attached the end of the leash was a cream and fawn colored Saluki wearing a turquoise ribbon around it's neck, just as Sherlene said. The young lady thanked the gentleman then proceeded to scorn the dog for running away from her. But very quickly afterwards the young lady dropped to her knees and petted the dog with relief. The gentleman realizing that a thank you was all he was going to get from the lady left her and the dog alone.

"How did you know that?" Pike did not even look back at Sherlene when he asked, his eyes still fixed on the lady with the dog.

Likewise, Sherlene did not look up from her paper as she answered. "Her boots are country boots, but not so robust to suggest a rough terrain. Wilshire, perhaps."

"Yes, yes, yes but…don't you find her…attractive?"

Pike finally glanced up and over his shoulder at Sherlene, who stayed indifferent, still reading her uninteresting newspaper, not reacting or even acknowledging the joke. It would not be the first time Pike did this joke on her. It sprung up from the days back in university. Pike had often been found watching her reject every eligible man presented to her by her father on the campus with great amusement.

Seeing her thoroughly ignoring the joke, Pike laughed in accepted defeat and turned back to the window. "All right. But why a Saluki?"

"Owners are meant to look like their dogs they say," answered Sherlene, "Wouldn't you say Saluki?"

Pike finally stopped admiring the lady's beauty long enough to see what Sherlene had. The young lady's long curly hair was almost the exact same color as the dog's fawn color, only a few shades darker and more blondish. The white of the lady's clothing matched perfectly with the cream color of the dog's fur as well. And wrapped around the base of the lady's hat was another turquoise ribbon. Finally, both the lady and the dog had graceful and symmetrical features and figures.

"Remarkable…" Pike said still amazed by Sherlene's remarkable deductive power, yet used to it enough where surprise had diminished. "She is, quite in fact, Lady Geraldine Windridge the clos Marlborough Wilshire." ***

Sherlene, finally having looked up from the newspaper with interest in her eyes, hit the paper with her fingers in silent victory. She then moved from her position behind Pike's chair and settled down on the windowsill instead of in the chair across from his. It was because that chair was also turned to face the window and Sherlene wanted Pike's full attention without being distracted by the going ons outside.

"And now my dear Holmes," Pike said, "What is it you really want from me?"

"The late Douglas Maberley."

"Oh boy. What a waste."

Sherlene nodded slightly in agreement. "He was involved with a lady. A well placed, rich lady. Known to you?"

Pike gave her a smile she had classified as the smile he gave when he knew something especially dark that he was willing to share. Sherlene could count on one hand on how many people received that smile from Pike.

Pike took out his pad of paper and pen and wrote down the secret on the paper for a full minute. He then tore the paper from the pad, folded it and held it out for her. Sherlene reached to take it from him, but Pike jerked it out of her reach. "Have you something to trade?" he asked, "Tittle for tattle?"

Sherlene looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Pike, as a gossiper, lived on rumor and talk of personal, sensational, or intimate natures. Sherlene often had seen herself the absolute truth that made rumors real. However, her profession required her to keep silent on certain truths to avoid unraveling dangerous consequences. Her silence was not only to protect the innocent but because some secrets were best left forgotten. But more then that, it was against her nature to reveal secrets deemed too dangerous or unnecessary to reveal. Despite what some may believe, she was not someone who enjoyed causing scandals.

"Langdale…" Sherlene said slowly though the strong hint of warning was present in the undertone, "I'm in a hurry."

Recognizing the look those grey omniscient eyes sent toward him, Pike's mischievous smile fell away and he let her snatch the paper from his hand as she stood up from the windowsill. She quickly read the paper then gave it back to Pike, thanked him, then left the room.

She would have taken the paper with her, but it was their agreement that anything Pike revealed to Sherlene would run the risk of being revealed to all until the conclusion of her case. If she succeeded, the secret would be destroyed. If she failed, the secret would be revealed and she would be the one to deal with the repercussions.

It was a challenge and Sherlene Holmes could never resist one she was sure she could win.

* * *

When Sherlene and Watson got back to Baker Street, Watson imminently began packing for his overnight stay with Mrs. Maberley. When he was finished packing things from his room, he entered the sitting room to gather is revolver. He was in the middle of loading it, when Sherlene shouted from her room.

"Her name is Isadora Klein!"

Watson paused for a second before grasping that Sherlene had finally revealed to him the name of Douglas's mysterious woman. "Oh yes! The widow the German sugar king."

It was not clear yet to Watson on how poor Douglas knew this well-known rich widow and celebrated beauty. No woman could match Isadora Klein, a pure Spanish woman. Upon her marriage to the aged German, Klein, she had become the richest and loveliest widow lady to walk upon the earth. But what could this woman want now that Douglas was dead?

"Quite a celebrated beauty," Watson remarked

"_The_ celebrated beauty!" Sherlene corrected from her bedroom and standing in front her dressing mirror for a self-inspection.

Held onto her front was one of the few dresses she owned. It was a rather lovely blue and gray dress made of rich cloth that made it soft to the touch, with white lace and ruffles on the sleeves, neckline and skirt. Yet Sherlene felt alien as she inspected her reflection. There was no doubt the dress would do it's job of making her beautiful and a lady in the eyes of society, but if Sherlene had her way, she'd burn the damn thing for making her into something she never was. However the dress, along with the others, were gifts from her brother. That was the only reason she kept the dresses and nothing more. She threw the dress on the ground in disgust and reached over to try another one, but then she realized it was futile for her to be doing this. She then instead grabbed her skirt.

As she slipped the skirt over her trouser clad legs, she continued speaking to Watson. "She's engaged to married to the youthful Duke of Lomand."

Finishing loading his revolver, Watson asked, "What else did Pike tell you? Anything about her and Maberley?"

"Nothing," Sherlene answered, gathering her hair to the back of her head to fasten it in place.

"I wonder Holmes…" Watson began, pausing for a second to gather his thoughts, "Do you think it could be about some compromising letters she wants retrieved? I mean, particularly with her forthcoming marriage?"

Sherlene stepped into the room, giving her hair tie a firm final yank. "You mean love letters?" She walked over to the settee and sat down before shaking her head. "No, no. It's deeper then that." She turned to look at Watson who was placing the last of his things into his bag. "Listen…I demand that you spend a sleepless night at the Three Gables." She gestured to the revolver with a hand. "With that revolver in hand."

Watson nodded in agreement. "How will you be spending the evening?"

Sherlene waited to moment before answering. "Pursuing the matter from another angle, examining the principle," was the eventual response. She rose and left the room to gather her hat and cape, leaving Watson to wonder what she meant by that.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the comfort of her own glorious and visibly wealthy bedroom in the Lomand Family's grand house, the beautiful Isadora Klein, dressed in her gold silk dressing gown addressed her personal butler, Miguel.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me, Miguel?" she asked, walking past the tall gray-haired butler. As she walked, her hand lovingly reached to lightly graze his cheek and chin in a manner of comfort familiarity rather then romantically. She continued to walk to one side of the large canopy bed, as the butler answered, no formalities in his tone. Though it was unusual for a butler to not be respectful when addressing his lady, Isadora had no objections.

"That stupid woman, Susan, has left the Maberley house," was the butler's news

"Left?" asked Isadora

"Was forced, she claimed, by Ms. Sherlene Holmes." Isadora was surprised by the name, but Miguel continued on, "She's refused our request to avoid Harrow."

"Sherlene Holmes…" Isadora tested the name. It was not unfamiliar to her. Sherlene must have been the snooper her hired hand, Mr. Steve Dixie, had warned her about. Isadora frowned then jerked her head back to Miguel. "Then you did not request her hard enough," she scowled.

She paused again, thinking.

"Well…" she said after a minute, "So Ms. Sherlene Holmes is on the case."

"She paid a visit to the old lady," Miguel told her. Isadora looked up with concern but Miguel was quick to reassure her. "But left empty-handed. Have no fear."

Isadora frowned again. "We're losing time Miguel. We must act tonight. Arrange it."

Miguel nodded

Isadora leaned back against the pillows, her thoughts on the woman known primarily as the Woman Detective. "This Ms. Sherlene Holmes intrigues me," she told Miguel "Is she clever?"

"She has a reputation."

"For solving crimes, yes. But for her own kind…" Isadora trailed off, the rest not needed to be spoken.

It was no secret that Ms. Sherlene Holmes was inquisitive, even if a perplexing kind of inquisitive. It was uncertain how she got into the role of man, but somehow she did and no one has been able to get her out of it. The police couldn't arrest her for her unnatural position because they needed her too much. Even Queen Victoria herself could not force her into her natural proper role. On the contrary, for whatever the reason her majesty did not appear to want to. If anything her majesty rewarded Ms. Holmes.

But Ms. Holmes was a paradox in many ways.

In the case of her appearance, she could be a more then a handsome pale beauty. She wore no dress, but rather a vest and long sleeved chemise. She wore a black skirt yet if one looked down at her ankles they'd see the ends of dark trouser legs. Upon her head, she wore a black filly with no netting and finally draped on her shoulders was a hip-length black cape.

According to rumor, she did not wear a corset. She carried no umbrella or a fan, but she did have a cane, a man's utensil. She did not wear make-up to make herself more pleasing to the eyes. Her figure was a tall elegant one but borderline on being too skinny. Her hands, while described as thin and graceful, her fingers were stained with acid burns. Her hair, a stunning obsidian color, was neat and smooth but often hung loose or secured to the back of her head with a black tie.

But in the case of everything else, anyone with enough brains could see that she was not a lady at all. What kind of woman disregards the existing standards of tidiness or good order, preferring untidiness and chaos? What kind of woman leaves the comfort and security of her home to go off in search of dangerous affairs? What kind of woman does not seek the comfort of being with her own sex? What kind of woman does not look for the safety a man can bring to her? What kind of woman walks into the most repulsive places to ever exist? What kind of woman does not know how to cook or sew or paint? What kind of woman does not care for her beauty? What kind of woman does not care for having children? What kind of woman does not wear a dress or carry a fan or an umbrella? What kind of woman wears trousers under her skirt?

What kind of woman pretends that she is a man when she isn't?

_That would be Ms. Holmes' flaw, _Isadora decided. _By acting and thinking like a man, she inherits their ignorance and she will not be able to understand. __Because after all, how could a woman acting and thinking like a man really know anything about being a real woman?_

* * *

*Unlike in the book, Langdale Pike (portrayed by Peter Wyngarde—I got Pike's nationality from him) is slightly more active as a character in the Granada TV series. From the dialogue, it sounded as though he and Sherlock knew each other during their days at university, making them schoolmates and, in a way, kindred spirits.

**Another reason it took me so long to update was because it took me days to find the name of this dog breed. Jeremy's accent made it hard to figure it out. I had almost given up and called it a greyhound mix. Saluki are actually one of the oldest known domesticated dogs going back all the way to ancient Egypt. They were introduced to England in 1840, about 50 to 60 years prior to this story.

*** I have no idea exactly what he was saying but I think I got it close enough

Hope you're enjoying and please remember to review


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Phew! This is my **longest** chapter yet. (4,518 words) in just **three days**!

The fight scene between Watson and Steve Dixie is here! However it is not overly action packed or very long because Edward Hardwick was 61 (weird because Watson's supposed to be in his 40s here) and Steve Toussaint (the portrayer of Steve Dixie) had to be careful with him. Also because fight action scenes are still pretty new to me. I hope I did all right and not screw it up!

Also, be sure to check out my profile page to see the **next upcoming Sherlene Holmes**!

* * *

By the time Sherlene arrived at the Duke of Lomand's grand home dusk had fallen at last and a costume ball, put on to celebrate the young duke's upcoming marriage, was in full swing.

The fall of the night allowed torches and colorful sphere-shaped party lanterns to be lit. The fireworks with their almost gunshot-like bangs nearly drowned out the cheerful violin dancing music. Two canoe-like boats were sailing on the pond, the canoe poles easily allowing the boats to traverse the calm water. Everyone was either dancing or sitting in groups to socialize, or running around with sparklers. Most of the guests were dressed in late 18th century wear, but some were togged up in ancient Rome costumes as well. The food and drink was plentiful and well served.

Dressed in her usual dark wear, Sherlene stood out like a black pearl among a pile of white ones. Yet the partiers largely ignored her as she strolled stiffly through and past them. Most of them were too caught up in their fun to take notice of the out-of-place stranger passing through them. The few heads she did turn barely lingered on her for long. Sherlene ignored it all. She was well too used to being different whether it be obvious or not. Once upon a time, it would have bothered her greatly, but not anymore. Now she could walk through the groups of similar people and feel a sense of pride and uniqueness that they could never feel.

She was walking towards the only out-of-place guest in the party. It did not surprise her the slightest that Langdale Pike had somehow got onto the Duke's party guest list in only a few short hours, when he realized where she was, no doubt, going to eventually go. Like Sherlene, he wasn't dressed in any costume, though he was wearing a heavy cape on his back. He was sitting on a decorated chair clamped onto a litter being carried by two costumed servants. When Pike noticed her coming toward him, he used his cane to tap the shoulder of the servant in front of him to stop. The litter he was sitting on was carefully placed on the ground. With a wave of his hand, he had one of the servants bring a chair over.

"You still owe me a favor, dear girl," Pike told Sherlene as she crossed the last few yards to stand in front of him. "I shall'nt destroy the paper until you return the compliments. Remember? Tittle for tattle."

Sherlene merely stared at him. She knew the threat was a weak one and would not be carried out, regardless if she gave him something or not. Pike honored their agreement, as he always had. It was one of the reasons they have been friends for so long. Where she couldn't resist being dramatic, Pike couldn't resist being pretending to be a blackmailer. Sherlene knew that Pike was far from a malevolence person. To him, their agreement was like a game. All he wanted was to see that she stayed an honorable and fair person, even if she did take the law into her own hands.

Pike took a second to exam her person. "Look at you," he sighed, "Are you…what on da—" Sherlene pointed to his own clothing "Oh! Of course. We are above the beau epitome costume. The Rebels have begun. Life is mystery enough without your pale conundrums."

Sherlene sat down in the chair Pike's servant had brought over as Pike finished his last sentence. She looked back the merriment crowd, her omniscient eyes turning hawk-like as she tried to find the young duke and his fiancée. But the constantly moving guests made it difficult, even for her sharp eyes, to find or detect her two quarries. She let out a distasteful sigh. "Oh, so many people! So little purpose!"

"That's God's conundrum," Pike told her, "…if only mortals could answer that."

"Then your life would no meaning," was the retort Sherlene shot back, turning her attention away from the crowd and back to Pike.

"Ooooh, true," Pike realized, "Cruel, cruel, and so true. I've always said that if our late mutual friend Charles Augustus* was the bad edge, I am the good edge. I suppress much, much more than I expose. What sort of world would we be if I didn't?"

It was question Sherlene sometimes asked herself. What sort of world would people live in if she didn't step up to become a detective? What would happen to her clients had she become a normal lady like her father and society wanted?

Would Charles Augustus's blackmail still be around even after his death? Would Percy Phelps ever recover his honor? Would the Musgrave treasure be found? Would Miss Stoner still be alive? How many more women would Baron Gruner have victimized? Would the Blue Carbuncle ever be in the right hands? Would McFalane ever be proven innocent? Would the Bruce-Partington Plans ever be recovered? But most of all, would Moriarty ever be stopped?

Sherlene was well aware that many lives, and even England itself, were saved by her actions. It did not matter if she was a woman or a man. Despite the prejudices society made her face, it was comfort enough for her to know that it was she who made the difference, even with some needed help.

She and Watson burned Charles Augustus's blackmail. She restored Percy Phelps' honor. The Musgrave treasure was with its rightful owner. Miss Stoner was alive and married happily. Baron Gruner would hurt no more women. The Blue Carbuncle was safe with her and Watson. McFalane was innocent of any wrongdoing. She, her brother and Watson put the Bruce-Partington Plans back in the government's hands. And Moriarty was defeated, his empire of crime turned to dust.

It was why she was determined to bring a long needed justice upon the narcissistic Isadora Klein. If she had anything to say about it, Isadora's crimes upon men would finally end. _And it would,_ Sherlene vowed as she tried to find Isadora again through the crowd. _It is time for Isadora Klein to see that not even the richest, most beautiful woman in the world is above justice, even if she is above the law._

"Which one is she?" the woman detective finally gave in and asked Pike.

Pike looked towards a spot among the crowd. "Over there my dear lady, you can hardly mistake her with young Lomand," he told Sherlene, who followed his gaze

There under some party lanterns, standing in front of a fire pit bowl, with a young boyish curled haired man dressed in dark blue ancient roman styled costume, was Isadora Klein. Though she was holding a white masquerade mask that hid her whole face, Sherlene knew that she had finally found her quarries. The boyish man was, no doubt, the Duke of Lomand. She and Pike watched him kiss his fiancée's neck, cheeks and exposed shoulders in a near uncontained passion.

"Not very dumb, some merci," Pike muttered and Sherlene silently agreed. The young Duke had mercifully enough sense to keep his hands on Isadora's waistline while in public. Sherlene was half-afraid and half-expecting the young man would start touching his fiancée in places left best touched in the privacy of the bedroom.

Sherlene had to look away but just as she was about to turn her head, Isadora lowered her mask to show her face, so Lomand could kiss her full lips. Sherlene saw that she was the lady in ruined picture in Douglas's concealed locket. However, the photo had betrayed her age. Isadora was indeed middle age**. Though her hair, far longer then it was in the picture, showed no signs of gray hairs, her beautiful face was starting to wrinkle, though she covered it up heavily with make-up.

Finally, Sherlene could look away. "Douglas Maberley?" she asked, giving Pike an excuse to look away from the betrothed couple.

"And others, all those, all those, all those," he told her, confirming just as she had suspected.

One should not be surprised that a celebrated beauty would have suitors after the death of her German husband many years ago. She had, more or less naturally, inherited all his money as he had no living relatives or heirs to give it to. With her beauty and glorious wealth, men, particularly young men, would be drawn to her like bugs would be drawn to a light. Isadora loved their attention, but only for a period of time.

Sherlene leaned a little closer to Pike as his voice became quieter as he explained further. "Douglas is one of the most striking young men in London. He gave all, and expected all."

"It was she who ended it?"

"Brutally," Pike told her, pausing when two partiers, a black man and a young pale lady, passed by them hugging, spinning and laughing. He continued on when they were far enough way. "Marriage to a penniless diplomat with very little breeding was not in the widow's plans. Don't you read my column?"

Sherlene didn't answer the question since they both knew the answer. She instead turned back to watch the engaged couple. A group of young girls were playing Ring a Ring o' Roses around them now.

"Hmmm…" the woman detective hummed, "And yet he seems, even in death, to have some hold over her."

Pike looked back the couple with displeasure. "Do what you like with the information I gave you," he told Sherlene, "But have no truck with her. Look! The sight of her set my hairs on end! She's deadly."

Yet another point the two of them could agree on. When one is not blinded by Isadora's beauty, they would sense a hidden viper and a black widow under that pretty face. In Sherlene's case, it was one of the advantages of being a clever woman and for Pike's case, it was the advantage of being a listener.

"And now she has the great Duke of Lomand within her grasp."

"Look at them," Pike scuffed, "She's old enough be his—Ahhh, the anguished mother."

Sherlene quickly looked toward the mansion. She saw another middle aged woman walk onto one of the balcony, overlooking the party. Like Isadora, this woman's hair was not graying but her face was devoid of any make-up, showing the wrinkles and weariness of her face. She stood tall and straight but she was in no way proud. Instead, she had a sense of torment in her face and tiredness in her frame.

The woman's eyes looked around the party for a moment before they settled on Sherlene. Knowing the woman was looking at her, Sherlene raised her hand, holding up her forefinger in a signal then giving the woman a quick nod. The woman, understanding, nodded.

"I helped her husband once," Sherlene told Pike

"What's your interest in her now?" Pike asked, having now risen from his chair to stand next to her. "Douglas is history! He's dust! Dust!"

"Aren't we all?" Sherlene asked, rising from her chair "Aren't we all?" She was about to walk away when she paused. Then with the pointing a finger, she added, "Even you."

As she walked towards the mansion, Pike called after her, flippantly, "Not me, dear girl! Not me! I withstand the blasts of time!" He started laughing, "Can't you see!"

Maybe it was out of instinctual spite, but Sherlene found herself walking past Isadora and the Duke. She felt someone's eyes upon her back when she past. Sherlene stopped to look over her shoulder. It was no shock to her that she found Isadora staring at her with suspicious curiosity mixed in with large hints of abhor.

After all, the lone black pearl among the white pearls had just past the largest most beautiful pearl in the pile. Why should the pearl not hate something that draws attention away from it? The beautiful pearl sensed a threat and wanted it gone.

Little did the beautiful pearl know…little did it know…

* * *

Watson was able to get back to Three Gables before the sun had set. Mrs. Maberley and Dora, the only maid in house now that Susan had left, had greeted him warmly. He was treated to a small but handsome dinner Mrs. Maberley had help Dora prepare. He ate heartily as Dora brought his bag up to Douglas's old childhood room, which had been converted into a guest room. After finishing, he and Mrs. Maberley settled in the sitting room and began talking.

Eventually, their conversation went onto Douglas's childhood and Mrs. Maberley's late husband, Mortimer, whom Watson never had the chance to meet, though Sherlene had. Mrs. Maberley brought out a box of mementos she had kept. They both settled on the floor and the old lady began her stories, handing some pictures and other items to Watson as she went.

"I was on my way to India," she began on the story on how she met her husband, "A governess to a family when I met my dear Mortimer. He was going the other way. Oh!" She picked a very old and battered sand-colored hat from the box. "This was the hat he was wearing over sixty years ago!"

Watson laughed as she placed the ruined hat on her head. "But you never got to India?"

"No. I turned back and went for him. Oh the fuss! You see, he was a penniless salesman at the time. Um…gripe water! You know, the thing for baby's tummies?" Watson couldn't help but chuckle at the item Mortimer had trouble selling. Of course, no one would by gripe water unless they had a baby with stomach pain.

"But in his heart and soul," Mrs. Maberley continued, "There was adventure. Ahhh, the places we planned to visit all over the world." She sighed forlornly as she removed the hat from her head. "We never left Harrow."

Watson reached over for a picture he had seen of Douglas as a young boy. Standing next to him was a breaded man of tall strong stature. "Is this Mortimer with Douglas?" he asked, handing the picture over

Mrs. Maberley was thrilled at seeing the picture. "Oh, good heavens! Have I kept that? Oh, how wonderful! Oh. They dotted on each other. They were alike in so many ways. Two peas in a pod."

Watson watched her stroke the picture, no doubt both poignant and blissful at the memories of the two of the three men she had loved in her life. Which brought up a question that Watson had been brooding over. "And what happened to his mother and father?" he asked at last.

Mrs. Maberley didn't look up from the picture as she explained, "Oh…my…my son and his wife were killed in a climbing accident*** in Snowdonia when Douglas was only two years old. We brought him up as our own you see."

* * *

Sherlene could still hear the almost gunfire-like bangs of the fireworks in the front yard as she sat in the mother Duchess of Lomand's private sitting room. It had been a few years since she last been in this room, but it was exactly as she remembered it.

Upon the sight of an old friend, the Duchess's palpable anguish seemed to lessen a bit as she permitted her in. Two puppies had come up to Sherlene, curiously sniffing her and following her the comfortable chair in front of the fire place. But the moment the Duchess sat down in the chair opposite of her, they went over to the Duchess and jumped into her lap, settling down comfortable as Sherlene had begun talking.

"This case in Harrow?" asked the Duchess after Sherlene finished telling her about the murder that had recently been taken there.

"It concerns your future daughter-in-law…" Sherlene explained, "…and a late acquaintance with her. The facts do her no credit."

The Duchess was silent for a moment. Then a light of victory glowed in her eye. "Something from her past?" she asked, her whispered voice lined on anticipation of being right.

On Sherlene's confirming nod, the Duchess's eyes glowed and her long-held anguish disappeared. "I knew it! Tell me at once!"

"I need a little time."

The Duchess frowned and shook her head. "The wedding, to which I deplore, is almost upon us."

Sherlene slowly nodded once, signaling she knew.

The Duchess glanced over Sherlene's shoulder to look out the window looking out into the front lawn. She could see her son dancing merrily with the viper. The Duchess refused to call her future daughter-in-law anything else. Her son was wrapped tightly in the viper's grasp. Her son was a good boy, but he was too ensnared in the viper's splendor and lost in a world of fantasy he believed he would be living in forever. But poisonous snakes could never bring paradise.

"My golden boy…" The Duchess sighed sadly, "He's besotted with this one."

She looked back at Sherlene, her eyes imploring the younger lady to tell her what she wanted to know. "If you know something against her, pray God, let the scandal break now."

But Sherlene only gave her a little smile. "Oh, no, no, no. I think a scandal can be avoided."

She roused from her seat, signaling her intent to leave. The Duchess quickly roused with her, the puppies quickly jumping off her lap. "Is there anything you wish me to do?" she asked

Sherlene shook her head. "Granting me this interview was all that I needed," she told the Duchess, "Mrs. Klein would not have been pleased to see me here."

"Mrs. Klein," the Duchess half scuffed, half hissed, "Harry would be turning in his grave."

"Leave all to me, please," Sherlene told the Duchess without questioning before leaving the room.

As the Duchess watched her leave, she felt put-off and just a bit angry at Sherlene's refusal to reveal to her the secret she knew about her upcoming daughter-in-law. But the Duchess reminded herself that Sherlene, though a very odd sort of lady, was not one for causing scandals no matter how much someone wanted one. It was what made her stronger person then most of the men and women the Duchess had ever known in her life. It was that strength that Sherlene had earned the Duchess's trust. Sherlene did not reveal the late former Duke of Lomand's past unintended dishonorable conducts in order keep him, her and their son safe, though her son was thankfully ignorant of the affair.

She owed Sherlene her faith in her, thus the Duchess willing gave it. It was all she could do now; keep faith that Sherlene would find a way to save her son from the viper known as Isadora Klein.

* * *

It was late when Watson went up to his assigned guestroom to prepare for a long night of sentry/bodyguard duty. He would do what Sherlene asked him to do and not sleep tonight. This sort of assignment she asked of him reminded him greatly of the nights he spent on patrol sentry duty back in Afghanistan over a decade ago. He had just doused the oil-burning lamp and settled in his chair when he heard a loud horsed but clear scream coming from below.

He sprung up from the chair, nearly toppling it, grabbed his revolver from the side table and hurried out of the room.

When he got to the stairs, he found Mrs. Maberley, whom he thought had been getting ready for bed but she was still fully dressed, laying on the bottom five steps as though she had been pushed there. She looked pale from shock, and Watson could see she was clutching something white in one of her hands. He just caught sight of two fast-moving shadows vaguely shaped like men disappearing out of his line of vision.

"Mrs. Maberley!" Watson called to her, quickly though mindfully coming down the steps.

He dropped quickly to her side. He set down his revolver and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her out and away from her shock silence. She grabbed hold of his elbow with her free hand and tried to push him away from her. For a moment, Watson thought it was out of fright, but looking into her eyes, what he saw was not abysmal fright, but rather pure anxious perseverance.

"Leave me!" she insisted, her voice crooked from her earlier scream "Go after them! They got it! Go!"

It, Watson realized, must be the very thing Steve Dixie and his friend (he was sure it was their shadows he had seen) had been sent to collect for their employer, Isadora Klein. _Mrs. Klein must be cold hearted,_ Watson thought, _if she allows her hired hands to attack a poor defenseless old lady in order to rob her of her possession._

With his old solider instincts overriding his instincts as a doctor, Watson picked back up his revolver and sprinted to the side door in the kitchen, leaving behind Mrs. Maberley on the stairs, still persevering and pleading for him to hurry.

* * *

When Watson got outside, he headed straight for the foliage. Upon entering the cluster of plants, trees and bushes, he slowed down and proceeded to walk carefully, his ears straining to hear the slightest disturbance amongst the bushes. Though he had seen Steve Dixie and his companion's shadows exit through the front door, his instincts directed him to go out through the side door. If a thief had been seen exiting through the front door, most men would assume the thief would run in a straight line. But a smart thief would draw pursuers into one direction before going in another different direction. It was a tactic used by foxes in order to throw off pursuing hunting dogs.

Watson's instincts turned out to be correct when his revolver, which he had been holding out in front of him, had been knocked out his hand by a fist. A hand grabbed his shoulder but Watson was quick to punch his attacker's gut. The first punch made his attacker let go and the second made him step back a few paces. Before Watson could try for a third, his attacker turned on his heel and ran away from him. Not wanting him to get away, Watson gave chase.

His attacker ran out of the foliage and into the garden. He passed the summerhouse to reach the high stone brick garden wall and was able to climb over it, just as the doctor made it past the summerhouse.

Watson stopped and let out a sigh. There was no way he had the agility or the strength to climb over that high wall. He lost him and no doubt Steve Dixie with whatever it was they had successfully stolen from poor Mrs. Maberley.

_Holmes is_ not _going to be happy about this_, Watson thought dejectedly. He turned around and started walking, intending to go back to the spot where he lost his revolver then see to Mrs. Maberley, mentally kicking himself for leaving the poor woman alone in such a state, when someone very tall and brawny stepped right in front of him.

Watson slowly looked up in surprise, but it quickly vanished when he realized Steve Dixie had just revealed himself. In that moment, Watson realized he had been deliberately led to the summerhouse where the black thug was undoubtedly hiding, waiting for his moment to pounce.

Dixie swung, aiming for the side of Watson's head but Watson was quick enough to duck. The doctor was quick to send a straight right into Dixie's abdomen. Dixie took a couple sets back, but he was hardly winded. Watson tried to punch the thug's face but Dixie was swift to lean back, out of Watson's reach.

Watson tried again but this time Dixie blocked and sent a large fist right into Watson's left eye. The sudden pain sent the doctor reeling back. He stumbled blindly into the summerhouse, ramming his back into the desk. However, his vision didn't seem to suffer too badly as he could still see in spite of the flashing light spots.

When he saw Dixie coming toward him, Watson raised his leg and kicked the thug's gut, forcing air out his lung. Now winded, Dixie stumbled back into the one of the summerhouse's railings. However, the old wood couldn't support his sudden weight and broke under the pressure, almost causing Dixie to fall off his feet. The tug barley managed to keep himself upright.

Having given himself some room, Watson stood upright and got his fists up and ready as Steve Dixie righted himself. Once again, Watson sent another punch but this time aiming for the thug's ribs. Upon successfully striking the ribs, the doctor pelted another hit to Dixie's gut, then tried to hit the thug's temple. But like before, Dixie was able to block the blow aiming for his head. The doctor had made a mistake in trying to hit his opponent's head. Now that his arm was blocked, he left his right side open.

Dixie plunged a strong blow to Watson's rib, causing Watson to cry out and try to curl into himself to cradle his wound. Now having a good hold on the doctor, Dixie threw him against the one unbroken window side of the summerhouse, causing the whole wall to shutter and glass to break. Dixie then pulled Watson away from the wall and hit him across the forehead. Watson went flying out the thug's grasp, into the desk then onto the floor.

Though despite the pain in his side from a bruised rib, the ache in his back from connecting to the windows, the doctor was quick to get back onto his feet. He ran at Dixie, intent on ramming him into the very wall he was thrown against. However, he underestimated the strength in Dixie's legs.

Now back in Dixie's reach, Watson felt the thug hit him in the back of his head, causing him to drop to his knees in pain. Dizzy, he felt Dixie hauling him back to his feet and grabbing his collar. The doctor was still too lightheaded to stop Dixie from forcing him back against another wall.

What he was not expecting was Dixie's furious cry and the doctor found himself carried off his feet and being propelled through the window wall, break more glass and tearing a hole in the wall itself. He saw red when he felt himself hit the hard unforgiving ground with a bump.

His last thought before everything went black was: _I'm sorry, Sherlene…_

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Baker Street, Sherlene Holmes abruptly woke up from her slumber with a sense of unexplained dread.

* * *

Okay, okay, that last part with Sherlene was my own little add-on. I put it in to explain the next upcoming scene.

* The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton, otherwise known as The Master Blackmailer. Because this story takes place in 1899, I tend to think The Three Gables takes place in the 1900s, though the Granada Series puts the timeline in the 1890s

** Claudine Auger, the actress best known as Bond Girl, Domino Vitali in Thunderball, had portrayed Isadora Klein when she was 52, though Isadora is hinted to be in her late 30s. Auger had retried in 1997

*** Mary Ellis's last husband was killed in a climbing accident in 1950, 44 years before this episode was aired. She also portrayed Lady Florence the year before in The Eligible Bachelor. Mary Maberley was the last role she ever played. She died in 2003 at age 105.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sheesh! Between collage, homework for four different classes, spring cleaning, exams, planning for the next Sherlene Holmes story and babysitting 8-year-old nephews, it's a wonder I found time to work on this chapter all! But I prevailed over these obstacles and got it here for anyone willing to read it! Besides one or two people, **is anyone else** reading this?

tapd0g, who has been most my encouraging reviewer (he/she has been doing most of the reviewing), had pointed out a mistake in the last chapter. The line Langdale Pike speaks at the party was actually, "La belle dame sans merci," not "Not very dumb, some merci." That error was made due to my crappy volume speakers hooked up to my computer. I don't own any of the episodes on DVD, so I'm stuck finding the episodes and playing them on the Internet. Right now, I'm not very sure if I want to go back and fix that error or not with the story being so close to completion. MAYBE I'll fix it when I get around to doing more editing, but we'll get wait and see because I had liked how that.

Anyway...hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Ms. Holmes! Ms. Holmes! Wake up!"

Mrs. Hudson knocked insistently on her lady tenant's bedroom door that was connected to the hallway. She knew Ms. Holmes had come home last night from wherever she had been for most of the evening hours. Ms. Holmes had told her to expect a telegram in the morning from Dr. Watson. She then retired early to her room, an unusual thing for the bohemian lady, who was well known for staying up until well into the night. Sometimes she even stayed up all night for days. Her new case must have been going exceedingly well if she decided to turn in early.

But the telegram Mrs. Hudson had received from the boy just a few minutes ago told her that something bad had happened and Ms. Holmes was needed without delay.

"It's bad news I'm afraid!" the landlady called through the door.

But Ms. Holmes didn't open the door. Mrs. Hudson turned the doorknob, finding the door unlocked. Without hesitation, the old woman pushed open the door and entered the bedroom, intending on waking her tenant. Sometimes Ms. Holmes slept so deeply that she needed to be shaken awake.

"Wake up!" she called, heading toward the bed. But then she stopped. Her worried mind catching up with her eyes, registering that although the bed had been slept in, Ms. Holmes wasn't sleeping in her bed.

"Ms. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson said confused. She was sure Ms. Holmes had retired to her room. Confoundedly, the landlady looked around the room for a moment and spotted the door to the sitting room had been opened. She looked into the sitting room, calling again for Ms. Holmes.

At first glance, the sitting room seemed to be as deserted as Ms. Holmes' bedroom. But then a slender hand slowly appeared over the top of the back end of the settee, sleepily waving at her. Apparently, for whatever reason, Ms. Holmes had moved from her bed to sleep on the settee. As Ms. Holmes righted herself up, a little fogged-up from sleep, Mrs. Hudson hurried to the settee and quickly sat down next to her tenant.

"It's bad news, Ms. Holmes," the old lady told her urgently.

"Hm?" came the sleepy reply

"It's the doctor!"

Some of the drowsiness dissipated and Sherlene snatched the telegram the out Mrs. Hudson's hands and she quickly opened it, reading it swiftly, though all the message said was for her to return immediately.

"He's been brutally attacked in Harrow!" Mrs. Hudson enlightened her, her voice rising a bit with worry.

Sleepiness gone in a flash, Sherlene threw the telegram away from her and stood up. She knew something had gone wrong during the night when she had woken up earlier with dread filling her senses. No longer able to sleep comfortably in her room after waking up with that strong of sense, she had moved to the sitting room settee, hoping her intuition wasn't as bad as she feared. She scowled at herself for that since her instincts were hardly ever wrong.

"No, no! He's alive!" Mrs. Hudson tried to sound reassuring but her own concern for the good doctor was making her slightly hysteric. Sherlene quickly wrapped the old green-gray knitted blanket she had been sleeping with around the old landlady's frame, as she continued, "He wired, or rather the lawyer did, to say I was to find you if you want in! And you're to get there as soon as possible!"

Pulling the blanket closer to her frame, calming herself down, Mrs. Hudson finished with: "And I got him a nice piece of mackerel* for his tea."

But Sherlene had already headed towards the hallway.

* * *

Both the double front doors on the entranceway opened and banged hard against walls as Sherlene pushed them. She had forsaking putting on a skirt or brushing her sleep-ruffled hair. She did not even change the clothes she wore yesterday and slept in, having not changed out of them when she fell asleep. One could hardly give a care about one's own appearance when your only real best friend had been brutally attacked, and was most likely seriously injured because you ask/told him to stay behind.

The woman detective stood in the doorway for a moment, looking around with her eyes. She quickly spotted the maid sitting on the stairs with a lacy white handkerchief in her hands.

"Dora!"

Having not heard the door bang upon despite being rather close to the entrance, the young maid gasped and jerked her head up in surprise at the sound of Sherlene's loud voice. Her eyes were glassy and the skin around them was red and puffy. The poor girl had been crying for quite some time but Sherlene couldn't find any sympathy to give at the moment.

She had spent the train drive to Harrow and then the cart ride up to Three Gables in a subliminal fit of worry. On the outside, she appeared as normal as she could be for someone like her, save for the fact she wasn't wearing her skirt over her trousers. But on the inside, she had an unshakable need to make sure Watson was alright. It had taken all her willpower to keep herself clam, as there was no way in god's name she was going to lose control of herself in public. Only two people were ever allowed to see her at her weakest without question. One of them could be found at the Diogenes Club, while the other was currently here at Three Gables.

"Where's Doctor Watson?" the woman detective demanded to Dora, her tone skillfully hiding any trace of worry she felt.

Though shaking in a combination of worry for her mistress and slight fear of Sherlene's disposition, Dora stood up from the stairs and walked down them, while the woman detective moved away from the entranceway. They met a few steps away the stairway.

Dora took a deep shaky breath and told Sherlene in a still upset and trembling voice. "He's upstairs, miss."

Sherlene let out a quiet sigh of relief, the storm of trepidation in her mind quieting down, allowing her body to relax from its anxious tenseness. In a calmer and far more soothing tone of voice, the woman detective asked, "How is he?"

Her alleviated tone of voice calmed the young maid out of any fear of receiving the bad end of Sherlene's mood. "I don't know, miss," Dora answered, "But he had a good breakfast."

Another sigh of relief escaped from Sherlene. If Watson was eating properly, then his injuries were either weren't as bad as they were made to sound or they were not affecting him too badly. It always brought relief to know nothing was as bad as you feared it would be.

Dora sniffed and held the handkerchief to her nose for a second before Sherlene asked, "Your mistress?"

"She's resting, miss," Dora answered, though her voice was choking up with concern worry, "She won't badly hurt, but she's had a nasty shock…" She paused for a second to gather herself before adding, "…we all have."

Sherlene reached to place a comforting hand on the young maid's shoulder but she paused when she heard footsteps coming from nearing the stairway on the floor above. The sharp ears of the woman detective told her that the footsteps belonged to a man since the trend was not as light as a woman's would be. It could only be Watson since he was the only man in this house.

Both Sherlene and Dora turned to the stairway just in time to see Watson starting to walk down the stairs. But he stopped when a wave of dizziness hit him unexpectedly. He leaned forward, nearly tumbling but he managed to grab a hold of the rail to steady himself and was able to regain enough of himself to making it to the landing. From there, Sherlene saw Watson had a black eye, blue bruises on his face and a bandage wrapped tightly around his head, though he was fully dressed.

"Good lord," she said, letting her some of concern drip into her voice when she saw the doctor's bandaged head, "What have you run into? What happened?"

Instead of answering, Watson shook his head and waved a bandaged hand Sherlene had not noticed until that moment at her as he slowly lowered himself to sit down on the landing to help regain his bearings from his almost tumble. He didn't want to talk about what happened to him, so Sherlene let her observation and detection powers tell her what she wanted to know.

The size of the swelling on Watson's bruised eye told her that the attack was someone with large well-muscled hands. But the eye itself was relatively undamaged so the attacker knew how to punch with some relative safety. Someone would have a long history of training how to fight using their fists in order to know how to fight with some safety in mind. Also most of Watson's injuries were on the upper parts of his body. All this signaled that the attacker had been a boxer since boxers favored hitting above the beltline, aiming more for the stomach and head areas.

That meant the attacker was Steve Dixie, Sherlene realized. If it had been the other thug, Watson would have injuries to the lower parts of his body. Sherlene knew this because she had observed that the second thug's strength was in his legs, suggesting someone who was fast and rather agile. If the smaller thug had fought he would have used his legs and feet because they would have been stronger then his fists. He would have hit Watson's knees and legs if he had been the one to attack instead of Steve Dixie.

Dora's worried voice brought her focus away from Watson, though the maid did not look away from the doctor. "Madam said she wants to see you as soon as you arrived, Ms. Holmes madam."

"Oh…" Sherlene walked around Dora and started up the stairs.

"Holmes…" Watson said, his voice tired from standing and moving so much in such a short amount of time since being injured "She's in a very frail condition."

"'Physician, heal thy shelf," Sherlene told him, patting his nearest and thankfully unwounded shoulder as she walked past him, continuing up the stairs without pause. Without saying it directly, Sherlene told him that he too was in a delicate condition, and that she wanted him to take it easy on himself, if only for her sake if not his own. It was because she minded his own shredded dignity for failing in his task of guarding Mrs. Maberley that Watson would do what Sherlene asked without directly asking.

* * *

Having taken Watson's warning to heart, Sherlene didn't touch Mrs. Maberley in order to arouse her from her calm but not really peaceful napping. Her client was exceedingly white from the combination of shock and fear she had endured just last night. She was lying quite still in her bed, several pillows propped her up in a slight angle. A scarf had been draped on her head for comfort and to give her a sense of security. From the sound of her breathing, Sherlene knew the old lady still had some awareness of her surroundings. It was to be expected since the scare kept her from falling into a deep restful sleep.

Improvising a different solution in waking her client, Sherlene slowly raised her arm, forming an arch in the air. The strong sunlight coming from the window behind her created a shadow on Mrs. Maberley's form. She watched the shadow of her arm fall on Mrs. Maberley's face. Mrs. Maberley's closed eyelids squinted in confusion at the loss of the sunlight and stayed squinted when the light returned. The old lady opened her eyes, her confused gaze falling onto Sherlene, who slowly reached to over to place the tips of her fingers on the old lady's hand.

"Ms. Holmes…" Mrs. Maberley said her voice tired but clearly happy to see the younger lady sitting next to her bed, despite seeing Sherlene's tangle-filled hair, unwashed clothes and wearing no skirt. The old lady was too exultant with relief to see Sherlene had finally arrived to be bothered by such a disgraceful state of being.

"How good of you," Mrs. Maberley sighed

"How are you feeling?" Sherlene asked

Mrs. Maberley managed to give her smile, "I'm alive, thanks to your brave friend, Dr. Watson. Did he get it back from them?"

"Get what?" Sherlene cocked an eyebrow in confusion. No one mentioned anything to her that something had been stolen. But it would explain why Watson had been so harshly injured. The thugs would have no reason to attack the doctor unless they had something in their possession they didn't want to give back.

"Oh," Mrs. Maberley's happy mood faded, replaced curiously by…

Repentance?

"Of course you wouldn't know," Mrs. Maberley went on to say, "I didn't…" She paused for a second then sucked in a deep breath to continue, "Ms. Holmes, I owe you an apology. I…I prayed it would have no bearing but it…it does."

Sherlene's eyebrow rose higher as she leaned closer to the bed, partially to listen closely to the words but also to keep an eye on the poor lady's state. Despite his own condition, Watson would have her head on a silver platter if she let Mrs. Maberley get too excited in her weaken condition. She had seen if happen before, thankfully with someone other then herself.

"Oh, it was so stupid of me," Mrs. Maberley went on without pause, "It's the reason for everything." Mrs. Maberley closed her eyes, gathering memories she had forced into a dark corner of her mind. "Douglas was writing a book."

Sherlene's eyes widen in realization. That was it she realized. The thing Isadora Klein was so desperate to get from Mrs. Maberley.

"He said it would explain it all," Mrs. Maberley continued not noticing Sherlene's expression even when she reopened her eyes. Her mind was still remembering what she had not wanted to remember for so long. "He started it in Rome, and later, when they brought him back here, he…he sat for hours in that…drafted little summerhouse, writing sometimes in the most dreadful weather."

Mrs. Maberley could still see her fragilely ill and slowly dying grandson writing nearly nonstop in her mind. She often brought him food from the house to feed him since he only came inside the house to sleep for only a few short hours before going back to the summerhouse to continue writing his book. It didn't matter to him if it was raining or cold outside. All that mattered to him was finishing that book that he had entitled "Sweet Revenge."

"And later when he could no longer leave his room, he still struggled with it." Mrs. Maberley paused to swallow back a lump growing in her throat before continuing, "Two copies. One he gave to Violet and told her to deliver it to someone…I…I don't know who."

But Sherlene did.

Douglas had told Violet, who was, no doubt, a good trusted old friend of his, to send a copy of his book to Isadora. That was how Isadora became aware of the danger Douglas had presented to her.

"He had sworn her to secrecy. And she kept it from us. The other copy…he urged me almost with his dying breath to send to his publisher."

In her mind's eye, Mrs. Maberley could see Douglas in his final moments. He had somehow managed to slide off his bed and stood on his knees before her, his eyes pleading for her to do something for him. She had ran her hands through his muddled hair and pale thin face comfortingly as he used his final strength to thrust the papers of his book against her chest. She knew what he had wanted to her to do and she had nodded to him. Life faded from his eyes after that moment, his body fell against his bed and then almost glided down onto the floor.

"I should have done so but…on the night of his funeral, missing him so much, I…I read it through." Mrs. Maberley's eyes began to blaze a mix of emotion. She let out a shuddering breath but continued on. "I knew exactly what it was! His life!

"That woman! I didn't even know her name!"

She took another breath in, trying to calm herself even as her emotions pouring out of her after repressing them for so long.

"But the scandal it would cause, and I…" Mrs. Maberley closed her eyes and pressed the heel of the palm of her hand against the side of her head, as through in pain from the memory. "I shut it out of my mind!"

_That explained why Isadora had taken so long to come to Three Gables,_ Sherlene realized. _She had been waiting for the published copy of this book to make its appearance. But when the book had not come forth after a period of time, she must of have realized that the second copy had not yet made it to the publishers._

"Tuck it away," the old woman continued, "And then last night…Dr. Watson reminded me…"

"And they were waiting for you?" Sherlene guessed

"Yes!" Mrs. Maberley answered sitting up a little in order to turn more on her side, so she could face Sherlene better, "They snatched it from me as I was bringing it up to him!"

_So that's it then,_ Sherlene thought dejectedly. _The book is now in Isadora hands and beyond my reach. Dash it all!**_

But then Mrs. Maberley, as if knowing what the younger woman was thinking, regained her attention by holding up a finger. "All but this…" she said, almost whispering as she did.

The old woman stuck the hand she held up under one of her many pillows and pulled out a scrunched up and slightly ripped piece of paper from underneath it. As she held it up to Sherlene, the paper slightly un-scrunched itself and revealed parts of a single paragraph written in writing made by a dying man's hand.

"I tore it from the brute," Mrs. Maberley explained, as Sherlene gently took the paper from the older woman's still slightly shaking hands and fully un-scrunched it up. Once the page was out of her hands, Mrs. Maberley nervously began biting a finger, as afraid of what Sherlene's reaction would be towards her for not being able to give her the book and only able to show her the ending of the book her grandson had written.

But Sherlene, after examining the paragraph for a moment, simply scrunched the page back up, dropped it one of her trouser pockets and left the bedroom. She had bothered Mrs. Maberley quite enough and she needed to get Watson home.

But now, she quite possibly had the answer to this interesting if bizarre mystery in her pocket.

* * *

"'…_face bled,'_" Watson read from the last page of the book Sherlene told him that Douglas had been working feverously on during his last days. Not long ago, he and Sherlene had finally made it back to the comforting familiarity of 221B.

Watson was happy to be back in the comfort of his and Sherlene's shared home, even if he had to subject himself to Sherlene's care. It was not often Sherlene had to be the one tending to him (if was often he had to tend to her), but she was thankfully far from smothering. She knew his pride and she respected it, though she would demand him to sit down if he was swaying or tell him when his bandages need redressing or could come off.

He obliged her by sitting down, but only because he was still seeing grey spots on the corners of his vision. He also allowed her to remove his forehead bandage because she was right that it could now come off. When she had finished gently removing the bandage, he was about to apologize to her for failing her but Sherlene had thrust the piece of scrunched up paper in front of his eyes. When he took it out of her hand, she went to sit in her chair. She lit a pipe for herself and asked him to read the paragraph written on the paper for her.

"'_His stomach burned from the savage blows_," Watson continued reading, "_But it was nothing to the bleeding of his heart when he saw that lovely face, the face, which he had been prepared to sacrifice his life for. She smiled—yes by Heaven! She smiled, like the heartless fiend she was. It was in that moment that love died and hate was born.' _"

As she listened, Sherlene stopped smoking her pipe as Watson finished, " _'If it is not for your embrace, my lady, then it shall be for your undoing and my complete revenge.' _"

"_"My" _complete revenge?" Sherlene said, "The "he" becomes "my"?"

She got up from her chair and leaned over Watson's shoulder to look at the paragraph. "Yes," Watson said, having also noticed the change of pronouns, "The writer imagines himself as the hero."

"Two copies…" Sherlene said, looking up, "One to Mrs. Klein."

"And this for publication," Watson added

"All of London would recognize the wool from the lamb," Sherlene finished. That was what these events between Douglas and Isadora were all about and Mrs. Maberley had been unwittingly caught right in the middle of it. "Sweet revenge," the woman detective sighed.

Revenge cases were nothing new to her. Many of her cases had been about revenge. And the heart of most of them was love. The case of Jonas Oldacre and the case of Maria Pinto Gibson*** were fine examples of that one. Burning love turning into a burning hatred. And with that hatred, a person becomes willing to do the most spiteful things in order for the former love to know the pain he or she was put through, and call it justifiable.

_Wait a moment._ Sherlene paused, frowning. She checked her memory, and then double-checked. "Read me that first sentence again!"

Watson did so without question. "_'…face bled. His stomach burned from the savage blows_."

Sherlene's face went dark with realization. "The cause of death."

Watson looked up at her in confusion, so Sherlene clarified. "Pneumonia from a ruptured spleen the old woman said."

Watson eyes widened in realization. "Oh heavens. Ruptured from a kick! That's murder!"

"He could never prove it," Sherlene sighed. Because he could not prove Isadora's part in the causing of his death, all that was left to him was to write a detailed confession without saying any names.

But the details would be enough for people to realize on their own whom the lady Douglas had described was. Douglas' confession would have brought Isadora's true face into public view, something she could not afford to happen if she wanted to keep her luxurious lifestyle and her new fiancée.

The only flaw in Douglas' planned revenge was that he had warned Isadora what was coming, not knowing that his grandmother would fail to carry out his dying last request. Because in her heart of hearts, Mary Maberley could not wish revenge on anyone, whether they deserved it or not. Her heart was too warm to do something so cold.

But Sherlene's heart was not so warm or so cold. She could not allow Isadora to go unpunished but she had to stay with the confines of the law. The written cause of death on the paper was not hard enough proof that Isadora had a hand in Douglas's demise. It could have easily been Sherlene herself who wrote that paragraph. Without proof, Sherlene could not prove Isadora of any wrongdoing. So now all that was left was to use the last resort Pike had given her to use.

But first…Steve Dixie.

"I'm leaving for Cricklewood."

* * *

*Believe it or not, it's a fish.

**Otherwise known as "damn it all" in 19th century times

***The Adventure of the Norwood Builder and The Problem of Thor Bridge

Hope you've enjoyed and don't forget to review!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Gaaaaahhhh! I **HATE** it when collage final projects practically take over my life! *glares at the half finished projects on the desk*

This is all I could get within two weeks between breaks of **FIVE** different final projects. It probably isn't my best work but I hope it'll relieve some of the waiting anxiety for those still following it.

Remember, feel free to point any mistakes!

* * *

The fight club was what one could expect. Rather crowded with fighting rings, heavy punching bags, and tall muscular shirtless men hitting the bags or their opponents if they were in the rings. Some trainers were nearby, couching their protégées while other men, a mixture of the poor and rich class, were there to bet on the matches. Women very rarely, if ever, visit these places but Sherlene was not a stranger to fighting clubs. Although it had been some time, she had been one of the exceedingly rare women to participate in fighting rings before, although no one had known her name.

Pushing memories of the ring aside, Sherlene sauntered calmly through the club, ignoring the looks she was getting from the boxers, trainers and gamblers, who were unused to seeing a potential beauty on the fighting premise. But they were also especially unused to seeing potential beauty dressed in trousers, since Sherlene had still forsaken putting on her black skirt.

Behind her, despite his battered state, Dr. Watson fallowed her closely. He had absolutely refused to allow Sherlene to come here alone, regardless of how well she could defend herself or how battered up he was. He could still use his revolver, even though his gun hand was currently wrapped up in bandages. He still had his other hand he had argued.

Sherlene walked up to the one black-skinned man in the club that was Steve Dixie. He was easy to put since he stood out like a sore thumb in this place. She knew that he had seen her enter the club, but was trying (and horribly failing) to pretend he did not notice her. He kept on going with practicing his hits the punching bag, but the hits were obviously getting weaker with every step she took as she got closer to him. By the time Sherlene stood right next to him, the strength of the hits were barely there at all. The other men may think it was because the site of a pretty face was distracted him, but Sherlene knew it was because he was growing nervous, though he was doing a good job of hiding it.

Sherlene decided that it was now time for Steve Dixie to learn that true intimidation did not come from one's fists. She took a deep breath in and put on her game face.

"Steve…" she started, her voice clear-cut "Grosvenor* Square, five months ago?"

Dixie paused in his striking. Sherlene had to stop herself from smiling and keep her expression vacant of emotion, but she could tell that she got him where she wanted. After all, Dixie had forgotten that she knew his secrets.

Dixie looked over at her, shaking his head.

"That won't me, Miss Holmes," he said defensively, but his tone had failed to convince her (and clearly himself) that he was telling the truth. "You can't put that on me."

"It doesn't matter whose boot killed Douglas Maberley," Sherlene told him, her voice steely and sharp as a freshly sharpened blade.

Watson, who was now standing only a few paces behind the woman detective, keeping an eye on the people in the room, could not stop himself from lookin over his shoulder at Sherlene in an amazed astonish. It was rare for Sherlene to use that sort of voice. But when she did, its tone would warn everyone that she was not to be crossed or misjudged.

"You are all guilty!" Sherlene added her voice almost in a shout, but it was enough to cause every single person in the room to stop what they were doing and turn their heads toward her.

With the silent brought on after Sherlene's accusing shout, the sound of an acutely familiar wheezy breathing filtered into the room. Sherlene turned her head towards a nearby wall covered in printed boxing sport advertisement posters. The breathing seemed to be coming from the wall.

"Ah, Susan!" Sherlene said to the wall, her tone of voice unchanged.

A bit of the wall moved, revealing a well-concealed door. From the doorway, Susan, the wheezy spying maid that Mrs. Maberley had hired, stepped into the room. For a moment, she and Sherlene just stared at one another. The woman detective seemingly unaware of the fact that some of the more experienced boxers were starting to block off the way Sherlene came in. But Watson could tell by just looking at his lady friend that Sherlene was not ignorant of what was going on, though her gaze stayed on Susan.

"Guarding the coop while your husband is in prison?" Sherlene asked, "Watson, you may remember Mrs. Barney Stockdale?"

"Ah, yes," Watson replied. It made sense now on how Susan got involved in all this.

In a specific operation like this one, no random person off the street could be trusted go and spy on Mrs. Maberley, even if paid handsomely. It had to be someone who had close connections to the Spencer John gang, Isadora's hired thugs. An outsider could give away the gang's intentions, but a loyal member would know how to tread carefully. But since most of the Spencer John gang members could not successfully infiltration the house without drawing suspicion, then it had to be a wife of one of the members. And who better then the wife of the gang's leader to send off on an infiltration/spying mission?

Watson felt himself go rigid when he saw that now all the boxers had taken positions half surrounding the woman detective, and cutting her off from him. However, Watson forced himself to keep calm. He had to trust that Sherlene knew what she was doing.

"Take care Holmes," he said to her

Sherlene did not give an outward hint that she heard him.

Susan bared her teeth at Sherlene. "You! Get out of here!" she tried to hiss but her wheeze swept any real threat out of her words. As such, Sherlene easily ignored her and turned back to Dixie.

"That woman will put you behind bars for what you did last night," Sherlene told the tug, pointing a finger at Susan "And her employer, Mrs. Klein of Grosvenor Square, will see you all hanged for murder."

Sherlene mentally smiled in victory when she saw uneasy fear grow in Steve Dixie's eyes. Cowed he was and she planned to keep him that way.

"Unless…" She paused for a dramatic effect. "You do _what_ I tell you, _when_ I tell you. Remember? Perkins of Holborn."

She nodded satisfactorily at Dixie's fearful expression. She had in him grasp now. Her intimidation method had worked perfectly as she knew it would. Calling Watson, she made to leave through the door Susan had opened, intending to leave through the back door through the Stockdale's resident.

Some of the other boxers made a move to go after her and give her a trouncing for daring to threaten one of their own. But Dixie put up his arm and blocked their way.

The boys couldn't see it, but he knew now they had angered a far more dangerous kind of woman then Isadora Klein could ever hope be. It would be in all of their best interests if they did not lay one hand on this one woman.

Prison, they could handle. The gallows, they could not.

* * *

After leaving the fighting club behind, Sherlene and Watson boarded a cab and headed toward West End. Upon reaching the residence of Mrs. Isadora Klein, Sherlene pause and stood next to a bench, placed conveniently across the street of the fine corner-house. Watson, feeling the fatigue brought on by his injuries, sank onto the bench and waited for Sherlene to compose herself.

John Watson knew that Sherlene Holmes was going to have to bend the law into her favor again. Once he would have berated her for doing such an act, but now he knew what Sherlene had always known. Sometimes the law does not always convey what is right or wrong, morality did that. Law just guided what justice is supposed to be, but the law in itself was not always justice Watson had learned. But it was never an easy thing to decide what was the right kind of justice.

Whenever she was in this kind of situation, Sherlene always paused to consider if the justice she had to deliver was indeed the right kind…if her change of the rules was, without a doubt, a good judgment of human morality. All too often, people were too quick to judge and they would pay for the mistake. For Sherlene, it was vital she kept any personal judgment out of these kinds of decisions. And Watson was thankful that she knew that and allowed her to take her time to decide.

What seemed like a long and quiet eternity ended when Sherlene raised her head and said, "I'm ready now."

Watson made to get up from the bench but Sherlene raised her hand to stop him. "No stay here," she told him, her tone soft and heartening "She's not Moriarty. She's a woman, like me." As she turned to begin to move towards the entrance door, she pointed to his bandaged hand. "That hand needs redressing."

From where he sat, Watson watched Sherlene walk toward the four stone steps that lead to the tall oak double-door entranceway of the house. Those doors might as well be the entrance to a snake's den.

"You know all too well, Holmes," the doctor said quietly, watching Sherlene climb the steps and use her cane to knock on the doors "The female can be more deadly then the male."**

But Watson found himself not too worried as he watched Sherlene enter the house, giving the machine-like doorman her card on her way in.

If Mrs. Klein was indeed a snake, then surly Holmes was a hawk about to snatch it's pray.

* * *

It was a practiced ease for Sherlene to ignore the apparent wealth that was all over this house as she walked up the rich dark scarlet red carpet stairs to reach the second floor, where the object of her visit was said to be awaiting her. The house practically smelled of wealth and spoiled behavior. If one knows how to judge people by the house they live in, then Isadora Klein's persona was all over the place. Even the servants' machine-like behavior reflected on her character.

When the woman detective passed yet another stiff-back servant coming down the stairs, she paused to snort quietly to herself, "Value an option here? My foot!"

She continued on up the stairs.

Upon reaching the second floor landing, she easily spotted Isadora Klein awaiting her. She was wearing a fulvous*** colored gown, the only dull color in this whole house. From the way the beauty's eyes widen slightly as she neared, Sherlene could tell Isadora recognized her as the stranger who walked past her during the party last night.

"Ah, Madame," Sherlene said in a way of greeting as she removed her filly from her head.

The woman detective was not surprised when the Duke of Lomand had chosen that precise moment to appear at his fiancé's side. Sherlene had suspected he would be here. Many young and foolish men in love would rather live with their (outwardly) beautiful lovers then with their (in this case, rightfully) overly worried mothers despite that they were not yet married.

His chin was up proudly as though he was sizing himself above Sherlene, even though he was only taller then the woman detective by a couple of inches. His face was stone-set on endeavoring himself look powerful and older then his young twenty-something years of age. For most people, this stance would command respect and expected obedience for him, but Sherlene couldn't help but think how ludicrous he was making himself in her eyes. It would take more then what he was throwing at her to get her to respect a love-struck fool.

The Duke had also recognized her. But unlike his bride, he had more familiarity with the woman detective, having met her years ago when his father was still alive. But as far as he was concerned, Sherlene was just a friend of his mother who shared the same views against his beautiful bride. In his mind, why else would Sherlene have come to party last night, then disappear into his childhood home and then be here in his fiancée house the next day, if not to try and bully her.

"You again, Holmes?" he said with revulsion. He was quite tired of his mother's reprimands towards his lover. He would not put up with another. "If you have something to say to my bride, speak out before I kick you out."

Much to his surprise, Sherlene ignored him. Her attention did not wither away from Isadora and Isadora's attention never strayed away from the other woman. For a moment, the two women just stared at each other before Isadora spoke

"No," she said, causing the Duke to look at her with confusion etching his features. "I have been expecting Ms. Holmes. Leave us."

Though deeply surprised, the Duke scuffed, "I have no intention of leaving you with this—"

"Go James!" Isadora interrupted sternly. She put a hand lovingly on his arm and repeated her command, though the sternness was still there "Go."

With a huff, the Duke turned and left, leaving the two women in the hall.

"I am only surprised you look used to them," Isadora told Sherlene.

"I am only surprised you thought bullies could frighten me," the younger woman detective said unwavering but with a hint of amusement. She had seen it the Duke's stance that the threat was a pretense. Isadora could not afford the presence of police in her own home with the danger of her secrets being accidentally discovered. So instead, she had her fiancée try to intimidate her away, but he had failed much worse then Steve Dixie did earlier yesterday morning.

"No woman would take up my profession if danger did not attract her."

Knowing the excitement of being attracted to danger herself, Isadora just smiled, almost as if in agreement.

* * *

* This Square name was pain-in-the-neck to figure out. Jeremy's accent made it sound he was saying "Tra-vel-ga" instead of "Grosvenor." Originally, I thought he meant Trafalgar Square, but then I realized that it did not make any sense. After going back to reading the book, I found Isadora lived in Grosvenor Square and after listening to Jeremy again, I figured it out.

** I had to change this line a bit to better fit the change in the story. The original line Edward says is "Just remember, Holmes, the female can be more deadly then the male."

***A dull, almost tawny, yellow. It was the closest I could describe the color of that dress Claudine wore. I'll admit I thought that dress was H-I-D-E-O-U-S!

Only ONE MORE chapter to go. Hopefully I'll get it done before the Final Exams in two weeks. Root for me!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: THIS IS IT!

The Final Chapter is here! Enjoy!

* * *

**Sherlene Holmes and the Three Gables**

Isadora led Sherlene to the drawing room. The room, just like the rest of the house, showed off the lady of the house's wealth. It was larger then the sitting room back at Baker Street. The floor was made of an expensive title, while thick curtains and large portraits of people, who were no doubt part of Isadora's rich family, covered the walls, making it almost impossible to tell what color they were. Sherlene could see no chairs expect for the two pillow-filled yellow couches on the side of the room away from the great fireplace. Tables of all kinds darted around the room with lamps or exotic plants or flowers on their surfaces filled the rooms decorative. As she placed her hat and cane on one particular, Sherlene took note that the mask and hat Isadora was wearing during the costume party last night was on the same table, laying underneath a large vase of pink flowers.

As she quietly removed her gloves, she could feel Isadora's eyes on her back, studying her, trying to find weakness.

"You're a gentleman?" Isadora said, finally "I will treat you as my friend."

Gentleman…

That was a new one.

Never in her entire life had someone referred to her as a chivalrous, well-mannered, and honorable man of refinement. That honor had to go to Watson, not her. But it was not one of the worse of things Sherlene had been called throughout her life. In fact, it was one of the nicest things her opponents had ever called her, though it was inaccurate.

Isadora's eyes reflected what she thought of Sherlene to be. A woman, though intelligent, believed herself to be a man. She dressed like one, despite wearing a skirt and a woman's cape and hat. Sherlene's often un-lady-like behaviors would further Isadora's argument. With this in mind, Isadora believed she could handle her since she knew how to handle men.

But that was the flaw in Isadora's plan.

Because no matter what Isadora believed, Sherlene was indeed a woman, through in through, no matter how masculine she dressed or behaved. Sherlene had never let herself think of her as anything more then what she was. Never in her life would she fool herself into believing she was a man in a woman's body. Thus Isadora's charms would not work on her.

"I cannot promise to reciprocate," the woman detective warned, dropping her gloves next to her hat and turning to face Isadora.

Though taken back a little by Sherlene's response, Isadora nevertheless continued, hoping that she would eventually catch sign of her charms working. "No doubt, it was foolish to threaten such a brave man as yourself."

Sherlene held back a laugh. Isadora really could not see that calling her a man would not turn things to her favor. Though, she silently took a little flattery at the compliment of being brave.

"No," was Sherlene response, her face and tone schooled perfectly "What is really foolish that an intelligent woman, like you, is to place yourself in the power of a band of rascals who could blackmail give you away."

Isadora gave a hmph in disagreement. "No, no, I'm not so simple. None of them have the least idea who their employer is."

"But Barney Stockdale and his wife."

Isadora fell silent in surprise. She did not know that Susan unwisely gave that piece of evidence away when Sherlene confronted her back at Three Gables yesterday.

"They are good house, word of silent," Isadora answered

So she did not know that at least one of the thugs under Barney Stockdale knew who was employing them. Steve Dixie never said anything out loud, but his behavior suggested that he knew. Because he was, after all, Barney's most trusted lackey and someone needed to keep the other gang members under control while Barney was locked up in prison. Lord knows Susan could not do that. Despite being the gang leader's wife, she was a woman and the gang would not follow a woman, even if ordered to.

"No doubt prepared to go to prison for you?" Sherlene asked

"They take what comes. That is what they are paid for."

"And…" Sherlene turned to look at the only large mirror in the room. "Mr. Haines-Johnson?"

Both Isadora and the stiff-back servant Sherlene had passed while coming up the stairs, currently hidden behind a nook in the room, froze. They had not expected Sherlene to know he was in the room or even know who he was.

Sherlene had recognized known who the servant was the moment he walked past her. By walking past her, he was trying to make Sherlene think that she and Isadora would be alone when they entered the drawing room. It might have worked had the light not reflected off the knife he was holding in his hand. The reflected light then reflected again off the face the mirror and hit the corner of Sherlene's eye while she was stripping off her gloves, catching her attention. She caught the hidden man's reflection in the mirror while turning towards Isadora.

Apparently, they planned to ambush Sherlene if they found her too dangerous of a threat to be let out of the house alive.

But having successfully thwarted the planned ambush, Sherlene continued on, knowing Mr. Haines-Johnson would not attack her now that he had been discovered. He was not a very fighter without the element of surprise. "Surely is not his name," Sherlene said, watching out of the corner of her eye, as the former criminal use his knife to crave the apple he was holding in his other hand "What is he paid for?"

"Miguel…is like a brother to me," was Isadora hesitant answer. A lie of course but the former criminal was higher up in Isadora's favor then most.

"As for the others," Isadora sustained, "They work. And I don't appear in the matter."

"Unless I bring you into it."

Isadora smiled, putting on another display of charm that would bring weakness to a man. "But you're a gentleman, Ms. Holmes. You respect a woman's secret."

At that, Sherlene did let out a short laugh and her voice showed her disagreement "Is murder a woman's secret?"

Isadora's face composer fell at the question. She took a second to regain herself enough to look Sherlene in the eye. "Murder?" she asked as though confused

Without dropping her gaze, Sherlene slipped a hand into her vest pocket and pulled out the piece of paper from within it. She unfolded it and held it up for Isadora to see. She read off the strongest sentence but substituted the second-person view for a first person one.

"My face bled," Sherlene said watching Isadora's face lose its self-control again, "My stomach burned from the savage blows. But it was nothing to the bleeding of my heart. Page two four five."

Isadora made to grab the paper but Sherlene was quick to snatch it away. "There was a witness, Mrs. Klein," Sherlene told her, her voice dropping into a quieter level, making the apparent danger more real to Isadora. "The prize-fighter Steve Dixie would testify against you."

Isadora was silent for a moment, before gathering the strength back to her voice to keep it from shaking. "And all this you told my future mother-in-law."

"What I told the Duchess is not important since she cannot prevent your marriage to your son," Sherlene said, tucking the page safely back into her pocket

"No, she cannot," Isadora agreed, turning away from Sherlene and walking towards the fireplace, putting some space between the two women. "And you believe that you can?"

"Oh yes," was Sherlene's uncaring answer

"Why should you wish to?" Isadora asked, setting a little closer to Sherlene "Is it because I'm a foreigner?" T hat had to be it because was the only thing that made sense to Isadora on why Sherlene would hate her. She smiled mockingly.

"Are you an English snob, Ms. Holmes?" She smiled in victory when she saw Sherlene's expression at being called a snob. "Let me tell you! My people had been leaders in Pernambuco for generations."

Having quickly gotten over the dislike of being called a "snob," Sherlene decided it was now time to use the information Langdale Pike had given her. It was all she had now and she was going to use it.

Schooling her features back into a calm coldness, Sherlene let loose her weapon. "Madam…you are the bastard child of a gypsy in delusion."

Isadora's expression fell in horror. This woman who believed herself to be a man knew her true origin! The darkest and most carefully guarded secret she had!

"You horrible damn—!"

Isadora leapt at Sherlene, intending to claw her face. She had not expected Sherlene to grab her wrists, stopping her hand just centimeters from her face. The grip was stronger then Isadora could imagine a woman could have in her body. Sherlene's grip was as strong as iron—unyielding, unbreakable and inescapable.

Not letting go, Sherlene through Isadora's arm out to side, bringing to the two women nose-to-nose. All the wild, Sherlene's expression stayed in that same calm coldness while Isadora's dread elevated.

"Who told you?" she asked, her voice a dreaded whisper. Only a very small handful people knew of her true origin and she had been sure all of them had been trustworthy enough to keep the secret to themselves. Apparently, she had made a mistake somewhere.

"It is my trade," was Sherlene's coolly calm response before she threw Isadora off of her, sending her back to the fireplace where she staggered against it "Now you must give me the manuscript."

Isadora grabbed the fireplace poker in response, intending on stabbing the woman with it before her head caught up with her. "You wish for ashes in a paper bag," she told Sherlene, her voice devoid of any victory because of the knowledge that someone outside of her confidents knew of her true origin, the real danger of losing all she had.

She threw the poker onto the floor and leaned against the fireplace again in defeat. There was only one thing left for her to do now to ensure that this strange woman would keep the secret to herself. Try to gain her sympathy and show her feelings toward her fiancée were truer then her feelings and actions towards the other men she had shared her bed with.

"You are hard to me," she started "Look at it with my eyes. A life's admission about to be ruined."

"The original sin was yours," Sherlene countered coolly

"Yes I know. Douglas. Yes, I did love him. Truly. Yes, yes, I did for a while in my passion. And he wanted marriage, nothing less would serve him and it did not fit with my plans."

"And so you hired ruffians to beat him until he was nearly dead under your own window. Is that the act of a lady?" Sherlene asked, her voice still cold

"Yes it is true," Isadora admitted, "Barney and his boys drove him away, perhaps a bit too roughly. But what did he do then? He wrote a book! A vicious bestial attack! Is that the act of a gentlemen?"

"You knew his publisher had not received it."

"Yes," Isadora answered, heading towards the couches to sit down. Her legs felt too weak to keep her up anymore as she told the strange woman the truth. "So it had to be in the house of his grandmother. As long as that book existed, there was no safety for me. I wanted to do anything, honestly. I offered her any price she cared to ask. But she won't take it."

_Only because you made her suspicious when you would not let her remove her possessions from her house,_ Sherlene thought. _If the agreement was to sell the house and the furniture then her possession should have not mattered to you. But by not allowing her to remove her possession, you made her believe that you wanted her to be without the things she treasured, liked the mementos of her late husband, lost son and grandson. Those possessions were more important to her then money._

"Are we to be blamed for protecting ourselves?" Isadora asked, ignorant of Sherlene's thoughts.

Sherlene stayed quiet, reflecting for a moment on what Isadora relieved to her and what she was going to do about it.

"One thing intrigues me," Sherlene said, picking up the party mask off the table and studying it "Why a woman as lovely as you, who wields such power over men, need the protection of anyone?"

A tear escaped Isadora's eye and ran slowly down her cheek. If she was aware of it, she ignored it for she did not brush it away. Or she simply did not care at the moment.

"Nature…" Isadora said sadly "…doesn't give a damn for any of us." She looked back up at Sherlene, her eyes filled with water, yet expect for the one trailing down her cheek, none of the tears came out. "I love James…and I want him. He represents all I ever desired…and my one chance of a kind of security to which I could be his."

She looked back up at Sherlene's face, as cold as it was there was some sympathy in her eyes "And you would take it away from me. Why?"

Sherlene did not answer.

"Why?" Isadora asked again raising from her seat.

Still Sherlene remained silent.

Isadora persisted. "Why?"

Sherlene raised her chin a little higher and answered finally.

"Because you are a destroyer of men."

Of all the reasons Isadora thought or expected Sherlene might tell her, that one was not what she had expected. She expected her to use her origin as the reason. She had even expected resentment for the rich, the powerful, the proper and the beautiful. She had expected animosity, but Sherlene said it as though it were a fact…a true undemonstratively cold hard fact.

"Oh yes," Sherlene went on saying secretly pleased to see Isadora had been shocked speechless "You who destroyed Douglas Maberley." Her eyes narrowed harden until they were nothing more then small chips of ice. "And very nearly my dear friend, John Watson with a ruthless disregard for anything but your own selfish interests."

That was the reason for what she was doing this to Isadora. Isadora destroyed men whether she intended to or not. Her fiancée, the Duke, was still a child in his mind. He is only in love with Isadora because she was still beautiful and had energy. But when Isadora could no longer hide behind the cosmetics, and no longer had the energy to keep up with her husband or the world, she would destroy him much worse then she did anyone else. She had damaged enough lives and it was time that Isadora faced the consequences of her selfishness head on and alone.

"Why have I fell with you?" Isadora asked

"I require only this," Sherlene told her, ignoring the question "That I read of the breaking of your engagement to the Duke of Lomand by Thursday morning."

"And if I refuse?"

"Scotland Yard. A full investigation with witnesses."

"I'm at your mercy," Isadora said, resigning herself. There was nothing else she could do but do what this strange and now risky woman wanted of her "Do your worst!"

Sherlene turned back to the table to gather her things. "How much does it cost to go around the world in first class style. Let me see…yes! You will send a cheque for five thousand pounds to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a little change of that. Goodbye Mrs. Klein. I have no doubt I shall see you again one day…on the arm of a king."

With that, Sherlene left, knowing she her bluff worked.

* * *

Come Thursday morning, Sherlene and Watson were at St. James's Park. Watson had just picked up the morning paper from a vender and stood under the shade of tree, reading out loud for Sherlene to hear from where she stood, leaning against the tree trunk. She was wearing her skirt again and staring straight ahead at window of a gentleman's club.

There was only one article however both Watson and Sherlene were interested in. The one entitled "Duke's Engagement Shock."

"_And therefore the celebrated beauty Mrs. Klein has departed for Spain,_" Watson read with surprise.

When Sherlene left Isadora's resident a few days back, she did not tell him anything expect to wait for Thursday's paper. For the past days, he had been left in the dark about what she did and now he knew, he wasn't quite sure what to think.

Feeling his legs go weak from disbelief, Watson quickly sat down in one of the two park chairs under the tree both he and Sherlene were standing under. "_Her people had been leaders in Pernambuco for generations,_" he finished reading

"Well!" he said, folding up the paper and plopping it down on the other chair "That's a dignified report! I wonder what others would have made of it."

Sherlene did not answer, but she did raise her cane toward the window she was staring at.

On the other side of the window, Langdale Pike set down his newspaper, his eyes on Sherlene. He held up the little folded piece of paper bearing the dark secret of Isadora Klein for her to see. Then he began to ripe the paper into pieces then threw the pieces into the air, signaling that she had won the game yet again much to his pleasure.

"You let her off the hook Holmes," Watson told her, ignorant of the little exchange between Sherlene and Pike.

"I'm pondering what do you mean*?" Sherlene asked

"Murder."

Sherlene shook her head sadly, "It would have been impossible to prove."

Steve Dixie's testimony and the last page of the book was not enough proof to convict Isadora of anything, especially murder. However, Isadora did not know how little proof she had. Her fear of her dark secret origin's discovery was all that Sherlene needed to get her out of London. That was all that the woman detective wanted: Isadora to leave London with the lesson Sherlene taught her.

"Mrs. Klein has learnt that she can't play with ancient tools forever without cutting those aging hands of her," Sherlene told Watson, "Time is not on her side. Shall we?"

As Sherlene and Watson left the park, the Case of Three Gables closed with Isadora Klein being both victim and aggressor, just like Douglas Maberley was. The only true victim during all this was Mary Maberley and she was happy now, finally fulfilling her dream of exploration. The Duchess no longer needed to worry about her son and the Duke would learn a valuable lesson from this breaking engagement. In the end, this case proved that it was best to let these events be over and done with and fade away into the past.

Justice was not needed this time around.

This time…

* * *

*Stupid speakers and Jeremy's accent strike again!

Did anyone know that Edward's youngest daughter, Emma, played Dora during this episode? I only just found this out.

* * *

And that's it! The first story of my Sherlene Holmes series is finished. I hope you enjoyed it. Up Next:

**The Resident Patient -Coming Soon**


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